


Stay Awake With Me

by AboutBatman (MistyDawn)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Court of Owls, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne is a Talon, Case Fic, Clark Kent tries to be a good parent, Court of Owls, DCU Big Bang 2020, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Fluff, Kidnapping, M/M, Talon - Freeform, Talon!Bruce, Talon!Dick, Various Members of the Batfam Trying to be Batman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 95,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27276001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyDawn/pseuds/AboutBatman
Summary: When Dick goes missing, the family works together to try and find him. When Bruce goes missing, the mystery only begins to unravel. Clark must work together with the remaining members of the Batfamily to discover the secrets of Gotham's underbelly, and not only stop the Court of Owls in their bid for power, but to also find his missing family members.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Damian Wayne, Clark Kent & Jason Todd, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Clark Kent, Tim Drake & Clark Kent
Comments: 23
Kudos: 83
Collections: DCU Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this for the past few months and now the time to finally post it is here!
> 
> I want to thank my two lovely artists that created amazing art for this fic! Please check out their art and give it some love <3
> 
> Cruria's art is [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27450586)
> 
> BlueNeon987's art is [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451732)
> 
> Fic title from [Stay Awake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UflF-nJMgk4&ab_channel=MaysaaPooters) by London Grammar.
> 
> **∆∆∆Trigger Warning in end notes (Spoiler)∆∆∆**

_Clark wakes at the soft closing of the bedroom door. Moments later, gentle footfalls make their way to the other side of the bed and he feels Bruce slip under the covers. Clark opens his eyes. Sunlight streams through the tall bay windows, bathing the room in a warm glow. It’s early morning, the sunbeams strong as they are birthed over the horizon. Bruce is just back from patrol._

_Clark rolls over and runs a hand through dark locks of hair. Bleary eyes blink open and Bruce burrows further into the covers and into Clark’s side. He presses a chaste kiss to Bruce’s forehead, “Rough night?”_

_“Mhmm,” the tired man nods, and he lets his eyes fall closed again._

_Clark smiles. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. “Stay awake with me,” he says, and the gentle breeze whispers along with him, rustling the sheer curtains as they flutter at the windows._

_The sunbeams highlight Bruce’s perfect cheekbones, and clear blue eyes crack open again to look lovingly up at Clark. Bruce smiles, his lips part slightly, and he says —_

There was a buzz in the cave. Clark flew down the steps rather than walked. Whatever was happening was serious; Damian was running about refilling his belt pouches and Batman leaned over the central display console with Tim at his side. He could hear Alfred’s heartbeat from deeper in the cave and smell the diesel as the butler refilled the tank of the Batmobile.

“What’s happening?” he said as he touched down on the metal grating of the platform.

Bruce didn’t look up, eyes focused on the holographic display of Gotham’s streets that hovered in the air above the console. “Nightwing is missing.”

Clark's eyes widened in surprise, “Missing? What do you mean by missing?”

Tim turned to him, mouth a grim line and shoulders stiff, “He went comm dark approximately 18 hours ago. Since then, he hasn’t responded to any of our alerts, nor any phone calls. Oracle attempted to trace him but found nothing.”

He could feel the worry start to flutter like butterflies in his stomach. “Was he taken?”

Bruce finally looked up at him. “Possibly,” he grunted. “But we can’t rule anything in or out until we’ve covered more ground.”

“Well I could fly to Blüdhaven and look —"

Clarks offer was cut short by Tim who had turned back to the map of Gotham. “We’ve already checked his workplace and apartment in Blüdhaven, including the apartments he has in Gotham.”

“Well surely he has a tracker in his suit?”

Batman clenched his jaw. “No. Not him.”

Clark’s eyebrows rose. He knew for a fact that Bruce had trackers on almost everyone. The kids had trackers in all their suits and secondary beacons embedded into the flesh of their arms. In fact, Clark was almost sure there was one hidden somewhere in the folds of his cape, but he couldn’t be positive. He opened his mouth to ask but Bruce glared so he shut it again.

Tim didn’t seem to notice, or care, as he continued on from his earlier point. “We’ve searched almost all his known haunts but they’ve come up empty.” He motioned with his hands and the map split into sections. “We're each taking a part of the city to search.”

“Do you want me to take a section?” Clark asked.

Bruce and Tim looked at each other, “Eh . . . maybe not. Each section is split to include villains and well . . . um . . .” Tim trailed off.

“You’re not exactly good at interrogating people,” Bruce finished.

“No offence!” Tim hurried to say.

Bruce turned and walked away, starting down the steps to the weapons bay. “Tim, we are leaving in five, ready yourself.”

Clark hurried after him but called “None taken!”, over his shoulder to Tim as he left. He jogged a bit to reach Bruce even though he could get to the weapons drawers in less than a second with his super speed. “Tell me what you need me to do to help.”

Bruce was stacking mini batarangs into the dispenser pouch on his belt. His hands were shaking. “Clark, I . . . I don’t know.”

Superman reached out to steady him. He and Bruce had been married for years and he knew exactly how worked up his husband could get when one of the kids went missing. “I’ll fly over the city and listen out for him or anything suspicious. Will that help?”

Bruce looked at him through his white lenses and let out a breath. “Yes. Yes, do the North docks first and then work your way down. I’ll be on comms, tell me if you see or hear anything.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “And I mean _anything._ I’ll come to you immediately.”

“Don’t worry, if I find something, you’ll be the first to know,” he promised.

There was a shout from down below; everyone was ready to leave. They were just waiting for Batman.

Bruce nodded and turned to leave. He was tense. Clark could see it in every line of his body. He reached out and clasped a hand on the shoulder pad of the black armour. “Hey.” Bruce turned to look at him and he could see the worry in his eyes, “Everything will be fine. We’ll find him.”

“Yeah?” Bruce said softly.

Clark squeezed his shoulder. “Yeah.”

* * *

Superman flies low over the Gotham smog. He weaves between buildings and through crooked chimneys until he reaches the outer edges of the city. It’s quieter out here, less noise pollution clouding his senses, so he can hear the steady heartbeat of Batman, accompanied by the faster, more excited one of his companion.

He swoops down onto the hilltop and notes the small boy in a brightly coloured costume standing beside the looming figure of the dark knight. “Hello there! You must be Robin. I hear you’re quite a crime buster.”

The child’s heartbeat gets impossibly faster and he looks up at Batman's stoic face. “Wow! You do know him. Hi, Superman!” He holds out a tiny gloved hand.

Clark can’t help but smile at the sight: a chubby-faced kid who doesn’t hesitate to be friendly, has somehow become the sidekick of the brooding Batman. Well, he does suppose he’s seen weirder. He engulfs the hand in his own and Robin shakes it enthusiastically. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Batman has told me all about you.”

The boy giggles and cranes his neck to look up at Batman. “Really? You talk about me to other people, B?”

Bruce puts a large hand on his shoulder. “On occasion.”

“Did you tell him about all the gymnastics I can do?”

Bruce opens his mouth to reply but Dick is already speaking again, “I can do a triple somersault on the trapeze! Do you want me to show you all the different types of cartwheels I can do?” He’s excited, practically bouncing on his feet, and he’s talking so fast his words are in danger of blurring together.

“There are different types of cartwheels?” Clark asks, bemused.

Batman manages to pull Robin closer to him before he can launch into a gymnastics routine. “All right, son. Now give us a moment to talk.”

“Okay!” Robin bounces away, leaving the two men alone.

“What's with the new look and sidekick?” Clark asks.

“I set out to scare criminals, not children. As for the boy . . . Well, I guess we’re two lost souls who found each other.”

Clark is glad Bruce took Dick in. It’s only been a few weeks, but he has already noticed changes in the man. He’s more patient, and sometimes when he thinks no one is looking, Clark catches him smiling.

“I heard about what happened with his folks. I’m surprised he’s so . . . chipper.”

Bruce looks over at where Robin is inquisitively looking under a large rock. “We all deal with trauma in different ways. I . . . I think maybe this,” Bruce gestures to himself and the batmobile, “Has helped him.”

“Did you find whoever tampered with the circus equipment?” Clark asks.

“Yeah. Mobster named Tony Zucco. After everything, it was all because of some lousy protection money.” Batman shakes his head in disgust. “They took _everything_ from him, all for the sake of a few hundred dollars.”

“At least you got him, he can serve his time behind bars. Hopefully, Dick can move on.”

Batman is eerily silent for a moment. “Hopefully. Thanks for coming to see the kid. He’s been begging me for days.”

“Anytime,” Clark says.

“I’ll be seeing you, Clark.”

“Take care, Bruce.” Clark is about to lift into the sky, he already has his hand up in his iconic Superman pose when Dick springs forward.

“Wait!” He looks at Batman. “Did you ask him?”

“Robin, this is not the time —"

“Please!” Dick clutches his hands together and brings them up in a pleading gesture.

Bruce sighs, defeated. “Superman, Robin wanted me to ask you if you would bring him flying.”

Clark looks from an apologetic Batman to a Robin that is practically vibrating with excitement. There’s only one answer. “Of course! Hop on!”

He kneels down and within seconds Dick has scrambled onto his back in a piggyback hold. Superman straightens back up and lifts his feet slightly off the ground in a hover.

Batman’s heart rate picks up the slightest bit. He looks pensive, or at least as pensive as he can while maintaining his stoic mask. “Don’t go past the bay, and try and steer clear of all the smoke in the industrial sector. Robin, make sure you do everything he tells you to do, I want you on your best behaviour.”

“I will, B!”

Clark tightens his hold on the boy’s calves and looks to Bruce. He uses his X-ray vision to look past the mask, directly into the man’s eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep him safe.”

* * *

A beeping came from the console of the Batmobile and a robotic voice announced, _“Incoming call from unknown source.”_

Clark looked to Bruce. The man didn’t outwardly react other than his grip tightening on the steering wheel and an uptick of his heartbeat. This could’ve been anything. A threat, a ransom demand. He knew Bruce expected the worst. He always did, his mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, thinking up every possible scenario. He’d been like that since Clark met him, always scheming and planning for every slight deviation to the threat.

“Patch it through,” Batman rumbled in a deep baritone.

The screen set into the middle of the dashboard flickered to life and Tim came into view.

Both men sat up straighter in their seats. “Tim, what happened!?”

His mask was partially ripped apart to show streaks of bright red blood running down from his hairline. “They chased me. I got too close to them, to their secrets and they —"

Bruce tapped wildly at the controls of the panel. “Tim, calm down. I need you to tell me where you are.”

The video connection wavered. “Safehouse N2B.”

“Got it.” A tracker dot finally appeared on the display map. Bruce put the car in gear and it roared out from the dark alley they had been idle in. “Why are you there? We haven’t used that hideout in years.”

Safehouse N2B was a basement hideout in the Narrows. It was old, unused since the days when Dick was Robin, and scarcely stocked. They could barely see the red brick walls behind Tim as the image turned grainy. “I had to come here. It was the closest safe house to —" the video feed dropped.

Bruce’s gauntlets creaked as they tightened on the steering wheel. “Clark, get that damned thing working.”

Superman peered at the various settings and controls, tweaking them as he desperately tried to get the feed working again. “Bruce, it’s not us. Whatever’s wrong, it’s on Tim’s end.”

The screen blinked, then tuned back in. “ — more of them.”

“We can’t hear you, the connection is fuzzy. Say it again,” said Clark.

Bruce sharply turned a corner. “Tim, who was following you?”

Tim shifted uneasily, looking over his shoulder. “I ---- something wro---- security.” The feed flickered in and out of clarity, to the point where he became unintelligible. “The ---- out of nowhere ---- the court ----.”

Bruce gritted his teeth together. Clark could see the tension in his muscles as he pressed his foot down further on the accelerator. “Tim, I need you to listen to me. Get out of there.”

The grainy picture darkened as the lights cut out in the safehouse. “Batman, who els---- knows ---- this base?”

Bruce put his foot down fully on the accelerator and swerved around a taxi. “Just the family.”

Red Robin whirled around, looking behind him. “I heard ---- they ---- systems down. I thin---- the ---- here.”

“Who? Tim, who’s there?” Clark asked.

Tim didn’t answer. They could see him move out of frame.

“Red Robin report.” They both listened to the staticky silence. “Red Robin, come in.”

Tim ran back into view, visible eye wide, and bow staff clutched in one hand. “They’ve broken the outer security---- don’t---- how long I---- you need to ---- go ---- tower.” The feed fizzled, warping Tim’s body into a garbled shape.

Clark could hear Bruce’s heartbeat thunder in his chest. “Tim?! I’m coming.” The batmobile shook with the power of the engine as he pushed it to its limits. “I’m coming to you now. Nearly there. I’m nearly there.”

“Dad, I —" The signal cut off.

And then he died.

* * *

The first thing Clark notices when Alfred opens the door, is that the house is full of noise. The musical notes bounce around the large mansion, reverberating through the house at every angle until they hit Clark’s ears at the front door.

“Are you having a party?” Clark asks.

Alfred steps aside to let Clark into the house and closes the door after him. “There are no guests, however it would seem that Masters Wayne and Grayson are having their own private party in the parlour.”

Clark shrugs off his coat but hesitates before he hangs it up in the closet in the entrance hall. “Oh, uh… are they busy? I can come back later if they—”

The butler takes it from his hands and slides it over a hook. “No doubt Master Bruce will be delighted to see you.” He turns and walks down a corridor, brooking no argument but to follow.

As they walk the music gets louder, solidifying into recognisable melodies and lyrics rather than the echoey mess that had assaulted Clark as he stood at the door. It is undoubtedly pop, something cheerful and energetic like disco music. Alfred stops at a set of large wooden doors and swings them inward.

“Chiquitita, tell me the truth!” Twin voices sing at the top of their lungs as a large speaker system thunders music from the corner.

Clark walks inside to the sight of two pairs of bodiless legs hanging over the top of the sofa that faces the door. Both sets of legs sway with the music, feet swinging as the rhythm of the speakers beats out over the room. “I'm a shoulder you can cry onnn!” they sing again.

Alfred attempts to clear his throat to announce Clark’s presence, but the music is too loud. He sighs and walks over to the speakers to pause them.

“Your best friend, I'm the one you must rely on—” The singing peters off as a bewildered Dick sits up from where he was lying on the sofa. “Alfred, why did you turn it off?”

Alfred straightens up, the perfect picture of a high class butler. “You have a visitor.”

Bruce shoots up from the sofa in record speed and lands on his feet. “Clark! I didn't know you would be here so early.” He looks flustered at being caught in such an un-brooding state.

Clark holds the smile back from his face. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

Bruce blushes slightly, just enough for Clark to see the pale shade of pink spread across his skin. “A little, I guess.” He runs a hand through his messy hair and Clark does his best not to stare at Bruce’s midriff as his turtleneck rides up. “I don’t really sing unless the situation calls for it.”

Dick jumps up on the back of the sofa so he is a similar height to Clark. “What did you think? Were we good?”

Clark gives him a one handed thumbs up. “Yes. You were both amazing, I think that if ABBA were still a band, they would be calling you up to try and hire you.” He leans over and whispers into Dick’s ear. “Don’t tell Bruce, but you were better.”

Dick giggles and nods solemnly as he pulls away and jumps down to the floor. “The secret is safe with me.”

Bruce moves around the edge of the sofa until he is on the same side as Clark. He looks relaxed for once in a black turtleneck, jeans, and fluffy socks. “So, did you just drop in or…” he trails off, unsure how to ask exactly why Clark is standing in his house this early in the morning.

“Oh!” Clark startles into action, momentarily forgetting the notebook he has under his arm. He lifts it out and flicks through it. “I brought the information you wanted on Luthor’s new project.”

He could have waited until the next time Superman and Batman met up for this sort of thing, but he didn’t want to, he saw the excuse to meet up outside of ‘work’ and he took it. They had been growing closer as of late, their friendship moving beyond its normal parameters. Lingering touches, glances that lasted too long; it was all adding up to something more. Or at least Clark hoped it was. He hadn't always had these feelings for Bruce, but little by little they had grown, until one day Clark had woken up and known he was in love with the man.

“Oh. That’s great, we can—” Bruce moves forward and promptly stubs his toe. “Fuck!”

Clark clears his throat. “Language, Bruce.”

Bruce hops on one foot while rubbing at the injured one, and looks from Clark to Dick. “Dick has heard—”

This time Alfred interrupts him. “Perhaps Master Kent has a point. I doubt unsavoury language will do any good in the development of Master Grayson’s lexicon.”

Bruce looks mildly annoyed, but he drops the issue. “I suppose you’re right. Clark, we can discuss the Lexcorp business in my study.” He toes on his slippers and makes for the door but Dick catches his sleeve.

“Can we show him the thing?” Dick asks.

Bruce’s eyes briefly flick to their visitor. “It’s not for another few days.”

Dick presses closer and brings out his puppy eyes. “Please, can we show him? I know it’s early, but I’m going to miss it because i'm going on that school trip on friday.”

Bruce’s vibrant blue eyes study the boy’s face for a moment before Clark sees him relent. “Okay.” Bruce runs a hand through Dick’s messy hair. “How about you and Alfred go get it, and me and Clark will wait for you in my study.”

Dick grins and then runs out of the room with Alfred on his tail. Bruce spins on his heel to face Clark and stretches an arm out at the door. “Shall we?”

Clark knows exactly where every room is in Wayne Manor, but he still nods to Bruce. “Lead the way.”

Bruce brings him through halls of rich wood panelling and plush carpets to a room with even more lavish tastes. Clark lays the notebook containing his Lexcorp research on the large desk and puts his hands in his pockets as he regards Bruce. “Nice socks by the way. I saw the bottom of them when you stubbed your toe.”

Bruce’s ears are tinged a slight red, but the rest of his face remains impassive as he lifts his foot up to look at the sole. The socks are fluffy and blue, and on the bottom is the unmistakable red and yellow crest of Superman. He smiles a little. “Dick bought them for me. He said the blue would suit me.”

“It does.” Clark says without thinking. He panics for a moment, squashing down the flutters in his stomach at the thought of Bruce wearing his crest, and changes the subject. “So, you and ABBA, huh?”

Bruce walks over to the drinks cabinet and pours two drinks as Clark takes a seat in front of the desk. “Yes. As I said, I sing in certain situations.”

“And today was a singing day? I think I should turn up to the manor unannounced more often if it means I'll get entertainment like that.”

Bruce drops a few large ice cubes into the glasses. “It was one of Dick’s bad days. Sometimes the grief hits him too hard and I have to cheer him up.”

Clark has known the boy for a little over a year now, nearly every time he’s seen him, Dick has been nothing but an excitable ball of fun. It’s hard to imagine him as anything other than the happy boy Clark is used to.“I didn’t realise, sorry.”

Bruce reaches out to hand him the drink. “No need to be sorry. That’s just how things are. I’m just happy that I can be there when he needs me.”

“I’m glad you have each other.” Clark takes the offered glass of amber liquid and ice and looks at Bruce skeptically. “You know I usually don’t judge these sorts of things… but isn’t it a little early for a drink?”

Bruce flumps down in his large desk chair and gives him a lazy smile. “Relax. It’s just apple juice. I keep a decanter of it with the real alcohol for situations where I don’t want to get drunk.”

Clark takes a sip of the clear apple juice and makes a pleased humming sound as the sweet liquid washes over his taste buds. “Clever idea. I bet it comes in handy.”

“Trust me, it really does.” Bruce says. He leans back in his high backed chair. “What did you find on Lex?”

Clark fumbles the notebook and nearly drops his tumbler of apple juice in his haste to get it open. “A lot. I confirmed he has multiple shell companies dealing with the cash flow, but I still haven't pinned where he’s storing the kryptonite.”

Bruce leans forward over the desk and takes a few loose pages out of the book so that he can scrutinise them. Clark is leaning forward too, and he is hyper aware that his forehead is only inches from Bruce’s.

“I see the problem. We are going to have to do more recon before we can pin it down.” Bruce clicks at his desk computer and opens his schedule. “There is a Lexcorp event hosted at one of his Metropolis factories in a week. I have an invite so I can just slip away at some point and see if i can get into his servers.”

Clark’s heart leaps at the thought of attending the event together. They have in the past of course, as Bruce Wayne the billionaire and Clark Kent the reporter, but they have never been knowingly working on the same case. “That’s brilliant. We can—”

Bruce shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous. What if he is storing the kryptonite there? One wrong move, and you could be powerless.”

Clark rolls his eyes. They were back to their old game of ‘keep the other away from danger’. “Bruce, how many times have we been through this? I’m not leaving you to deal with Luthor by yourself.”

Bruce sighs, but he seems to be giving in. “I would prefer if we confirmed where the kryptonite was before we sent you into the lion’s den.”

“If it’s an official event then I probably already have a press pass for it. I’m going to be there whether you like it or not, so we may as well work together.”

Clark can tell by the look on Bruce’s face that he’s already won. Any further argument that Bruce makes will be entirely for show. However, before Bruce can voice his protests, the door flings open and an excited Dick barrels into the room.

“We got it!” he announces.

Alfred follows him in holding a large box. He quickly walks over and deposits it with a thud on the desk in front of them. “The item as requested. It is quite heavy, but I am sure you will have no trouble with it mister Kent.”

Clark looks at Bruce and then Dick. “Me?”

Bruce pushes the box toward him. “I know your birthday isn’t until Friday, but as Dick said, we wanted to give it to you now.”

Dick beams at him and dances on the tips of his toes. “Open it!”

Clark lifts up the lid to reveal a typewriter. It’s black, and by the look of the model, it’s pretty old. He reaches a hand in and lifts it out with no difficulty. “Wow. This is beautiful. You really didn't need to buy me anything!” He looks up to find Bruce studying his reaction intently.

“I couldn’t get you nothing for your birthday, Clark. You know I wouldn’t do that. Besides, I like looking for things I think you’ll enjoy.”

Dick moves closer to get a better look at the machine. “It’s not just _any_ old typewriter you know.” He looks at Bruce expectantly. “Tell him who it belonged to!”

A small smile graces Bruce’s lips. “He’s right. It belonged to Ernest Hemmingway. I came across it and thought of you so I bought it for you.”

“Do I even want to ask how much this cost you?” Clark asks with trepidation. Sometimes Bruce gifts him things that Clark finds hard to accept because of their price. They are always well thought out gifts that he honestly cherishes, but he sometimes worries that he can’t repay Bruce in kind.

As if he can read his thoughts, Bruce speaks, “Don’t worry about it, Clark. As long as you enjoy it, it will be money well spent.”

An overwhelming urge to hug Bruce rushes through Clark’s system, but he manages to tamper it down. “Thank you.” Clark looks at all three of them. “Thank all of you. I can’t even tell you how much I love this.”

Bruce is always doing things like this for him, hunting down things he thinks Clark will like. Sometimes it’s gifts he buys. Sometimes it’s part of a weapon or machine Bruce has come across as Batman. Sometimes it isn't even physical, instead it’s a story or a fact that Bruce keeps squirrelled away in his mind until the next time he meets with Superman. It doesn't matter what it is, Clark will love it no matter what for the express reason that Bruce saw it and thought it would make him happy.

Clark’s heartbeat picks up. He wants to take the step forward. He wants to make the leap that both men have been dancing around for the last few months.

Alfred clears his throat. “Master Dick, perhaps you could accompany me to start preparations for lunch?”

“Aw, but Alfred, I want to—”

“ _Now,_ young sir.” Alfred leaves no room for protest as he ushers the boy out of the room.

That just leaves Bruce and Clark awkwardly staring at each other. Bruce’s hands twitch at his side as if they want to grab hold of something. “Well, I hope you enjoy the typewriter. I had it looked over before I gave it to you, so everything should be in working order.”

“I’m sure I will. It really is a lovely gift, Bruce. I can’t thank you enough.” Clark says as he carefully puts it back into its box and shuts the lid.”

“Do you… do you want to stay for lunch?” Bruce asks.

“No, no, I’ve already intruded enough today.” He scratches behind his ear awkwardly. The confidence he had felt moments before seems to have evaporated now that he’s alone with the object of his fancies. “I should really be going.”

“Oh… yeah that’s fine. I should probably be working on a plan for the mission anyway.” Bruce says.

Clark thinks he sounds disappointed but he can't be sure. “I look forward to seeing what you cook up.” He gathers the box into his arms. “Talk to you soon?”

Bruce nods. “Yes. Goodbye, Clark.”

“Goodbye, Bruce.” Clark turns and walks halfway to the door before the screaming voice in his head telling him to buck up is finally heard. Is he really going to run from this now? There might not be a better time to ask, and really, what’s the worst that could happen?

Clark spins back around to face Bruce. “I… I was thinking, maybe we could, you know—only if you wanted to—maybe we could go… somewhere?”

Bruce’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “Somewhere?”

_Come on, I got this. Spit it out._

Clark draws himself together, a new burst of confidence running through his veins. “Dinner. I’m asking if you would like to go to dinner with me.” He wants to deflate in relief of actually managing to get the words out, but Bruce still hasn’t answered. “We could go to a restaurant. Or maybe we could stay in if you don’t like that. There is a really good take out place called Chow Queen near my apartment in Metropolis—”

“Yes.”

“—it has all sorts of, wait, what?” Clark says dumbfoundedly.

Bruce’s eyes are slightly wider than usual and Clark can hear his heart racing in his chest. “Yes. I would like to have dinner with you.”

In all his run throughs of asking Batman out, Clark isn’t actually sure what to do in the event of Bruce actually saying yes. “Um… okay, that’s great! We should probably make plans.”

“I’m free tonight if you are?” Bruce says.

Clark finds his head nodding before his brain can even tell him if he’s free. “Tonight sounds good. I’ll pick you up around seven?”

Bruce smiles. “That’s fine. I guess I’ll see you later.”

Clark smiles back. “Yeah, I guess you will.”

* * *

The house felt empty. Once it had been full of life, but now it lay drab and quiet in the afternoon rain. There was mud on the floor from where people had tracked it in on their boots. Mud from the small cemetery at the edge of the Wayne estate. They’d held off the funeral for two weeks, Bruce insisted that the body needed to be kept on ice to find more clues, but eventually Clark had needed to break the man’s denial.

Tim was dead. The boy needed to be buried, for the family and for his friends. More people than Clark had expected had come. They had held an official funeral at Gotham Cathedral for ‘Timothy Drake’ so that Tim’s civilian friends could mourn, along with the usual socialites that hung around the Drake and Wayne families. Clark had had to hold Bruce back from physically fighting some of the more pompous members of the social class after one too many had faked their sympathies.

Then they had the real funeral. At home, in the Wayne family plot. Tim had been buried among the ancestors of his found family. There had been fewer people present, but it had been more sincere. The family had finally been allowed to weep, no longer watched by vultures who wished to feed on their pain. Tim’s various team members and superhero friends had been present. They’d all said their goodbyes and told their stories, then they’d tracked up to the house, a solemn train of black marching up the hill.

Clark had noticed immediately when Bruce had slunk away. There was only so much Bruce could take on a day like this, and socialising with people who wanted to lighten Tim’s death with fantastical stories of his life was not something he could handle for long.

Now, hours after everyone had returned home, Clark finally went to Bruce.

“How are you doing?”

“My son is dead.” Bruce was in his study. He stood facing the window with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand.

There was nothing Clark could say to that, so he walked over and put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder instead. Bruce didn’t acknowledge the touch, he just brought the glass to his lips and took a long drink.

“I’m here for you. You don’t need to go through this alone.”

Bruce grunted and kept his steady gaze on the setting sun.

Clark squeezed his shoulder then dropped his hand. “Everyone has gone home. Alfred is cleaning up.”

“Jason and Damian?” Bruce asked.

“Jason is helping him clean. Damian . . .” Clark sighed. “I don’t know where he is. He snuck off shortly after you did.”

“I don’t blame him.” Bruce took another long drink, then looked at Clark. “I wanted to stay, but I just couldn’t. All those people giving me condolences, looking at me with pity as if I’m the victim in all this. As if it’s not my fault Tim is dead.”

Clark glanced at the desk and saw an empty liquor bottle among the scattered papers. He reached over and took the drink from Bruce’s hand before the man could take another swig. “You don’t need any more of that.”

Bruce gave him a withering look. It was different from the looks Bruce had given him in the past, the ones given during missions or arguments. This one was filled with unshed tears.

“It was my fault. I . . . I didn’t get there in time. If I’d just been _faster_. If I’d just been a better father then —"

“No! I’ll have none of that talk. Bruce there was nothing that could have been done.”

Clark had thought back to that day often. He’d ran through all the scenarios, all the possible turns of fate that could have changed the outcome. If it had been any other city other than Gotham, Tim might not have died. But as it was, it had been Gotham— with her twisting spiderwebs of blinding lead that ran through each building like a lifeblood. A city with so much twisted noise, the cacophony drowned out the details that could have saved Tim’s life. As Superman, he had been helpless. As much as he had accepted the city as his second home, she had still eluded him, keeping her secrets hidden within her dark streets.

He hadn’t even known where the safehouse was, instead he had been useless in the passenger seat of the Batmobile, condemned to listen as Red Robin's voice faded from the speakers. By the time they had gotten to that wretched basement, the deed had been done. Clark had listened, straining his ears, but there had been no sign of his assailants, not even when he searched the ten surrounding blocks with his superspeed. It was almost as if Tim’s killers had been ghosts.

“Any leads on who they were?” Clark asked.

Bruce shook his head. “Nothing substantial, but whoever they were, they were much more than standard mercenaries. Likely professionally trained with access to expensive technology.”

Clarks brows furrowed. “Technology?”

Bruce’s jaw clenched. “They were on the comms, Clark. They heard everything.”

Clark felt sick. Whoever had done this had listened as Bruce desperately told Tim he was coming. “So they hacked the comms?”

“You don’t understand. Those comms are the most secure in the world. The only other lines that are encrypted as heavily are the ones I made for Wayne Enterprises. The only way to get into them is to either have an access code or to have a very expensive code cracker. And even then it would take considerable time and effort to modify the programming enough to break into our communication system.”

“So they must have planned this in advance?”

Bruce nodded. “To do it they would have been monitoring our comm system for months.”

“League of Shadows?” Clark asked.

“No . . . I’ve already ruled them out,” Bruce said stiffly.

_Ah. So that’s where Bruce had disappeared off to last week._

“So, whoever killed him was highly trained. They overpowered him, then escaped before we could arrive, because they knew exactly when we would get there.”

“No.” Bruce shook his head. “No, they didn’t want to kill him.”

Clark felt a knot form in his stomach. “Bruce . . .”

“No, really!” There was a glint in Bruce’s eye. Clark would hesitate to call it madness. It was more like an obsession. Some sort of primal need to understand that had taken root in Bruce’s psyche. “They were there to take him, not kill.”

Bruce circled around to his desk and rifled through the pages. “See, look.” He held up a small evidence bag. “A dart. I went back to N2B last week and found this under one of the bookshelves. It must have been kicked there during the fight.”

Clark moved closer and took the bag in hand. The dart was small and ornate. The needle looked wickedly sharp and jutted out of the darts main body to look like the beak of a bird. “What was it laced with?”

“Rocuronium. It is a derivative of curare, a tranquiliser used traditionally for hunting in the Amazon. It was briefly used as an anaesthetic in the 20th century. It’s old, virtually untraceable because it’s not manufactured anymore. Whoever did this is making it themselves.”

“Why choose rocuronium? Surely it would just be easier to use something they can buy?” Clark asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe they want the anonymity, maybe they’re trying to send a message.” Bruce scrubbed his face and slumped into the high-backed desk chair.

“So, they intended to drug and take him.” Clark raised his hand to his chin. He never was good at figuring out the complexities of a madman’s — or in this case a group of madmen’s — motives. “Why kill him if they went to so much trouble to kidnap him?”

Bruce rested his elbows on the table. He sat entirely still, staring at the crime scene photos he himself had taken. He reached a hand out and used his index finger to push away some of the top level photos so he could find the one he wanted. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Clark thought back to the night they had arrived at the safe house. Even with all their skills and knowledge, it had still been difficult to assess the point of entry, or even how the assailants had escaped. They were professionals through and through. Coming and leaving with the barest of a trace.

Bruce lifted the photo he was looking at and turned it towards Clark. Superman, for all he had been through and seen, still stumbled at the sight of Tim’s bloodless throat. That night had been a mad scramble, first to get there, then to get Tim changed into civilian clothes so they could take his body to the hospital. He was already dead, but Bruce had insisted that they bring him to a medical centre to at least try to revive him. The amount of blood in the safehouse had been . . . substantial. Same went for the still-wet blood that had covered Tim’s entire throat.

“Autopsy showed that blood loss via the left carotid artery had resulted in death. It is not a clean cut, more like an accidental puncture that got torn. The people that killed him were highly trained, had they meant to slit his throat, they would have done it properly. This . . .” Bruce threw the photograph back onto the desk. “. . . was likely an unfortunate injury that Tim sustained during the fight.”

Clark mulled over the words. The basement level had been a mess, they had tracked the progression of Tim’s last desperate fight through each room by the blood trail and the various pieces of knocked-over or broken furniture. “So, what are you saying? That Tim died for nothing, that if he’d given in to them, he would still be alive?”

Bruce looked away from him, away from the desk filled with pictures of his son’s blood. He stood abruptly. “I don’t know! For once in my life, I have no idea what to do.”

He sounded broken, and his words shook with each breath. Clark wanted to rush forward and scoop him into his arms, but he knew Bruce wouldn’t accept it at that moment.

Bruce leaned heavy palms on the desktop. “All those people earlier, offering empty condolences. Telling me they know how hard it is for me. How could they? How could they ever understand what’s been taken from me?”

“We’ll find whoever did this. Okay?” Clark said softly, as if trying not to spook a cornered animal.

Bruce shook his head. It was odd to see a man like him give in to hopelessness. “How? Dick went missing over two months ago, and now Tim is dead.” He looked into his eyes, and Clark could see the raw emotion swirling in them like a storm. “They took my boy, Clark. Now they’ve killed another and I’m still no closer to catching them. Still no closer to making them pay for what they’ve done.”

“We’ll find more clues, something that can help us get closer—“

“There are no clues!” Bruce shouted. The words burst out of him; his turbulent emotions no longer able to be contained. He picked up the autopsy photo of Tim’s bludgeoned neck and ripped it in half. “I have exhausted every clue, every fucking avenue that might lead us to something, and you know what I’ve found?”

“Bruce . . .”

Bruce continued, his arms waving in the air as he ripped apart the police reports and data he had carefully collected as evidence. “Nada. Nil. Zilch! Whoever they are, they don’t exist, at least as far as I can fucking tell!”

Clark watched Bruce’s chest heave with exertion as he destroyed his research. He ripped it to shreds and then picked up an empty whiskey bottle and threw it on the floor of tattered paper. It shattered on impact, thick pieces of glass skittering across the ground.

Bruce fell to his knees, uncaring that he was kneeling in glass. “They killed my son. Dick . . .” He paused as his throat constricted. “Dick is most likely dead too.”

Clark hurried over and grabbed his shoulders. “Don’t say that! We can’t give up on him. He . . . He could still be out there.”

“Where?” Tears streamed down Bruce’s face. “No ransom demands. No contact of any kind. No new evidence, and then they tried to take Tim? Statistically, he is dead. Tim —" Bruce choked on a sob. “ — Tim was just them trying to replace Dick. They were trying to recoup their losses so they could continue whatever scheme they had needed Dick for.”

It was the cold hard truth. Statistically, it was unlikely a missing person would ever be found after the first 48 hours of them being missing. The longer they were gone, the more likely they were dead, and Nightwing had been missing for just over two months.

Clark knelt down and gathered his husband into his arms. “Don’t give up hope. Not you, Bruce, not now.”

Bruce was never one to show his vulnerabilities. In all their years together, Superman could count the amount of times he had seen the man cry.

Bruce’s shoulders shook with the force of his tears. It was like he had bottled so much emotion inside himself for too long, and now it was bursting out at the seams. “He’s my boy and I can’t find him. What sort of father am I that I can’t find my own son in my goddamned city?”

Clark kissed him on the forehead. “You’ve done your best, Bruce. We won’t give up. You don’t have to do this alone, I’m here.”

“I know.” Bruce settled his head onto Clark's shoulder as he gave in to the embrace.

“I’ll never stop looking for him. I promise.” Clark said.

Bruce clutched onto him like a lifeline and looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Promise me, Clark. Promise me that if anything happens to me, you’ll look after Damian. The others are adults and they’ll need you too, but Dami . . . he’s too young.”

Clark tried to reassure him. “Don’t say things like that. Bruce, nothing will happen to you. We will find whoever did this, and we’ll make them pay. Both of us together, okay?”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. Clark was struck with how tired he looked, how run down he was, after the stress of weeks with no sleep and dead-end clue trails. The last few months had been hard, and it showed. Bruce opened his eyes again. The tears had stopped forming, but their predecessors' trails were still fresh on his cheeks.

“Promise me.” Bruce whispered his request again, but it still held as much conviction as the one before it.

Clarks shoulders sank. “I promise.”

He felt dread. As if speaking the promise out loud was in some way tempting fate.

* * *

Toffee, sugar, the smell of mud, and hotdogs. The scents permeate the air, curling around the makeshift stalls and drawing the crowds of people deeper into the belly of the carnival. Clark takes Bruce’s hand tentatively and Bruce squeezes it in return. Dick skips along ahead of them, happily weaving through the crowd with his massive stick of candy floss.

It seems to be going well so far. They’ve been on a few dates before this. Midnight pie at Carl’s diner, a coffee shared among Gotham’s gargoyles. Batman even allowed Clark to whisk him away on dates after a few of his patrols.

This date is to test the water. It can mean the end of everything if Dick doesn’t approve. Sure, the boy knows Superman and Batman are friends, but Clark knows if Dick rejects him as a boyfriend for his father, then it will all be over. He doesn’t doubt that Bruce loves him; they’d both been in love for quite some time before Clark finally mustered up enough courage to make the first move. But he knows that Bruce also loves Dick and won’t go against the boy's wishes, even if it costs him his own happiness.

The boy suddenly appears beside them, candy floss somehow already eaten. “Bruce! Can we do the balloon dart throw? Please?”

Bruce reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a crisp ten-dollar bill. “Knock yourself out, Sport.”

Dick snatches it off him in excitement and grabs Bruce’s unoccupied hand. “Yes! Com’n.”

“Aren’t all these games rigged?” Clark asks as Dick pulls the two men towards the stall.

Dick turns his head and shouts back to him as he drags them along. “Yeah! The balloons are under inflated and the darts are dull.”

Clark gives Bruce a confused look. “Then why bother?”

Bruce chuckles. “Dick likes to beat the system.”

They arrive at the stall and Dick hands over the money as he hops from foot to foot in anticipation. The carnie gives him his change, which Dick stuffs into his pocket rather than give it back to Bruce, and three blue darts. “It’s not about the prizes, Clark, it’s about sending a message.”

Dick throws the dart and a yellow balloon pops with a bang. The stall operator checks for a prize ticket and shakes his head. “Better luck next time kid.” Another balloon pops at the end of the stall and the man saunters away.

Dick turns to Bruce and Clark as they stand behind him. “The trick isn’t accuracy, it’s sheer force.” He throws the dart in one strong movement and another balloon pops. Empty again.

“How do you know?” Clark asked.

“Oh, we had all sorts of tricks in the circus. We usually had stalls like this outside the big top, and when you’re the one rigging the game, you tend to pick up a few ways to beat it.”

He throws his last dart. It hits a balloon right at the edge of the balloon display, the balloon pops and a golden card falls out. Dick beams and Bruce ruffles his hair. “Well done.”

Dick giggles. “They always put the best prizes in the balloons at the edge since everyone always aims for the middle.”

The carnie appears back beside them. “Looks like we’ve got a winner, ladies and gentlemen! A golden ticket means top prize! Take your pick, kid.”

Clark looks at Bruce. He seems happy, content even, as he watches Dick lean up on his tippy toes to see the prizes.

The boy sticks his tongue between his teeth as he makes his big decision. “The ring!”

“You sure, kid? You can get one of the big teddies with a golden ticket,” says the carnival worker.

“Nope, I want the Green Lantern ring please.”

Bruce splutters. “Wait Dickie, don’t you want the teddy? Or a pirate sword maybe?”

It’s too late. Dick already has the cheap plastic Green Lantern ring on his finger. “Isn’t this so cool!?”

Clark coughs to hide his laugh at the look on Bruce’s face. “Oh look, it even lights up!” he says.

Bruce gives him a dramatically scathing look and mutters under his breath. “Don’t encourage him. I can’t have a Green Lantern fan in my house.”

Clark just smiles innocently at him and looks at the boy who is currently striking a fighting pose with his ring hand punched out in a fist. “Not even when he looks like that?”

Bruce smiles wryly. “Well I suppose he is adorable . . . so I’ll let it slide for now.”

“Where to now, Dick?” Clark calls.

Dick, who is weaving in and out of the crowd with his green LED held high, twirls to look at them. “Can we get food?”

Bruce shrugs. “Sure. No more candy though. I don’t want you to be sick later.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “I won’t! You know I’m too old for that.”

Clark shares an amused look with Bruce. “How about hotdogs?” Clark makes a show of sniffing the air like a dog. “Hmm, let me see.” He lets go of Bruce’s hand so he can turn in a full circle. “I think I smell them . . . over there!” Clark points over to the far side of the fairground.

Dick giggles and hangs onto Clark’s arm as they walk. “Can you really smell them from all the way over there?”

“Yep!” He replies. “And they smell _delicious._ ”

Dicks eyes light up as his stomach rumbles. He turns his head to look at his father. “Can I get one of the really big ones? The ones that are as long as my forearm?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Hmm. We’ll see.”

They walk in silence for a bit, Dick happily skipping between them. They lose sight of him as the crowd thickens, but moments later he pops out from between a family and a young couple. He’s vibrating with excitement as he runs up to the men. “Oh my god! I found the best thing! Can we please do it? Canwecanwecanwe!”

Bruce holds up his hands. “Ok, slow down, Sport. Deep breaths.”

Dick barely slows down, but he does manage to explain. “I just saw the hammer strength test. We should totally do it!”

Clark laughs. “I don’t think that’s the best idea —"

It is too late. While they were talking, Dick pulled them into the ring of onlookers that are watching volunteers attempt to hit the bell.

A burly man with thick biceps and a bald head slams the hammer down onto the hit pad. The meter rises but doesn't get past the ‘Strong Man’ marker.

The attendant grimaces and playfully slaps him on the shoulder. “Better luck next time, buddy!” He picks up the large wooden mallet and twirls it in his hands. “Roll up! Roll up! Do you have what it takes to hit the bell?”

Clark leans over to Bruce and whispers, “Surely this is rigged too. Did you see the size of the muscles on that guy? No way he wasn’t reaching the top.”

Bruce nods. “I’m beginning to think this entire carnival is just one big trap to steal my money.”

They share a knowing look and laugh.

“My dad wants a go!” Dick shouts.

Before Bruce can protest, the boy is pulling him over to the attendant. Bruce goes to refuse but Dick has already slipped his hand into Bruce’s pocket and handed the money he manages to pinch to the carnie. The man smiles and hands Bruce the hammer. “Strike true, my friend . . . in the ultimate test of strength!”

The gathered crowd claps as the fresh meat steps up to humiliate himself. The strength display is tall; it has a bell at the top, a hit pad at the bottom and is sectioned into five coloured categories. ‘Mouse’ at the bottom, then ‘Man’, ‘Strong Man’, ‘He-Man’, and finally ‘Superman’ at the top.

Dick hops from foot to foot in anticipation. “Hit the middle of the target, B!”

Bruce nods, sets his feet in a wide stance, and then swings the hammer down over his head to hit the target dead in the centre. The crowd hushes as the meter goes up and up, reaching past the last contestant's high score to reach the ‘Superman’ category. However, it stops only inches from the bell before falling back down. The crowd lets out a sigh.

“Ah! So close! Not as strong as you think, eh?” The carnie winks and nudges Bruce, who has a stormy expression on his face. He clearly didn’t like being cheated out of his money and then taunted about it.

Bruce comes back over to Clark and Dick. His ears are red. “What an insufferable man.”

Clark pretends to cough so Bruce doesn’t see him laughing. “Um . . . yeah . . . You did good, Bruce.”

Dick can’t hold it any longer, he starts laughing, which only makes Clark laugh harder.

Bruce smiles but manages to hide it behind a pout before they can see it. “Honestly that thing is so rigged, I don’t even think _Superman_ can beat it.”

Dick’s head jerks up at them and he beams. “That is a great idea!”

Clark pushes his glasses up his nose as Dick latches onto his wrist and yanks him forward. “Hey, maybe this isn’t the best idea —"

Dick isn’t listening. “Hey, mister! I got another one,” he calls to the attendant.

“Ah, kid. I think you’re single handedly gonna pay my wages tonight!” The carnie’s voice booms across the stalls and the onlookers laugh along with him. He flips the mallet in his hands and hands it over to Clark with a smirk. “Hopefully you’ll have better luck than the last guy.”

Clark is about to back out, but something in the man’s smug look makes him grip the offered handle. The man slaps him on the back and then steps to the side. Clark takes a deep breath and a similar stance as Bruce did. He needs to be careful with this, apply just the right amount of force to ring the bell without going too over the top. Although considering how much this ‘game’ had been tampered with, he may need to add more strength than normal.

“We’re all waiting, bub.”

Clark looks over his shoulder. The crowd watches him with rapt attention and Dick gives him a thumbs up. He raises the hammer up and brings it down with one swift movement. There is a bang as the wooden mallet splinters and a great shattering sound as the display cracks. The meter shoots up at an immense speed and the bell rings out as it is dislodged from its perch atop the tower.

There is a moments silence before the crowd erupts into cheers and applause, the people clearly appreciative of the entertainment that he has just provided them. Clark can feel his cheeks heat up. “Uh . . . gee, mister. I’m terribly sorry about your hammer.” He hands the broken mallet over to the shocked carnival worker. The man can barely speak, instead he just cycles between looking at Clark and the obliterated display.

Dick bounces up to him with Bruce following behind. “You did it, Clark! Well . . . I think you did. Technically you rang the bell before it fell on the ground.”

Bruce’s lips twitch in the tell-tale sign that he is desperately holding him laughter. “Yes, I think you won.” He leans closer to Clark to whisper, “I think you should get the prize and make a run for it.”

Clark felt his face turn impossibly redder. “Um . . . that’s probably a good idea.” He straightened out his glasses and turned to the attendant. “What did I win?”

The attendant still looked shell shocked. Clark has to admit it was slightly gratifying to see the conman’s smug confidence so shaken. The man raises a shaky finger and points to a row of shelves with various sizes of stuffed toys sitting on them. Clark thanks him and walks over. He takes a few seconds to decide and then plucks a large plush elephant toy off the shelf.

Dick and Bruce are already standing away from the scene of Clark’s crime, clearly wanting to distance their involvement in it. He hurries over to them and hands the elephant over to Dick. “Consider this your prize for convincing me to do that.”

The trio turns the corner and continues their trek to the hotdog stand. Dick runs his fingers over the grey fur and smiles wistfully. Bruce reaches down and ruffles his hair. “What will you call it?”

The boy holds the elephant out in front of himself to regard it. “Zitka the Second.”

“What made you name him that?” Clark asks.

“Her.” Dick hugs the prize tight to his chest. “Zitka was one of the Haley's circus elephants. I helped look after her. She was one of my best friends.”

“You’re one of a kind, kid. Not many people have elephants as friends,” Clark says.

“Thanks for getting her for me. I missed having her around.”

They come to the food section of the fair. Multiple stalls are set up in rows selling different varieties of fried, grilled and roasted food. The queue for the hotdog stand is at least thirty people long.

“Oh, darn,” Clark says. “Looks like we’ll have to wait a while to eat.”

Dick’s shoulders fall in disappointment. “Well I guess we could get something else. I don’t want you both to have to wait in a long line just because I want a hotdog.”

Bruce’s lips turn down slightly and his eyebrows scrunch together. He looks around them before settling on an idea and kneeling down to Dick’s level. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll stay in line and get the hotdogs . . .” He opens his wallet and hands over money. “. . . And you take Clark on the Ferris wheel.”

Dick perks back up. “Really?!”

Bruce smiles at him and stands back up. “Yeah. You better hurry and get in line for it, though.”

Dick smiles. “Come on Clark. Let’s go!” He runs toward the Ferris wheel and disappears into the crowd.

Clark turns to Bruce. “You sure you don’t want to come with us?”

“No, go on ahead. It will be good for you two to have time to talk anyway.”

\----

Dick jumps onto the carriage first, his elephant plushie clutched tightly in his arms. Clark clambers on after him, struggling to fold his legs into the seat before the attendant pushes down the safety bar. The wheel pushes them on past the passenger entry deck and the carriage makes its steady ascension to the top.

“Are you having fun tonight?” Clark asked.

The strings of lights wrapped around each stall twinkle like fireflies as they rise higher. Dick blinks big blue eyes up at him. “Yeah. I couldn’t have asked for a better night, Uncle Clark.”

Clark feels glad that Dick is having a good time. He’s a good kid, and Clark only wishes they would have more time to do things like this in the future. “That’s good, Dick. Your dad and I wanted to bring you here tonight to ask you a question.”

“A question?” Dick asks innocently.

Clark rubs the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. “Yeah, well . . . you’ve probably noticed Bruce and I have been acting differently lately.” He looks at the boy, but his facial expression gives nothing away. “We wanted to ask you your thoughts before we continued.”

“I know you’ve been dating. I’ve known for a while. There’s only so many times Batman can come home smiling before I get suspicious,” Dick says.

Clark could feel his cheeks heat up again. “Oh. So, you're okay with it?”

Dick smiles and pats him on the arm. “Of course! I think you are good for him.”

“For Bruce?”

Dick looked down and played with Zitka’s floppy ears. “Yeah. You make him so happy. It’s good to see him like that.”

The carriage rises to the top of the wheel, the fairground stretches out beneath them in a sea of bright colours and lights. The smell of toffee apples and popcorn drifts up to them on the wind, and they can hear the cries of delight and the upbeat carnival music from the fair rides as they spin their passengers about.

“I’ve missed this.”

Clark looks to Dick. He is staring out across the carnival, eyes locked on the people that scurry like ants beneath them. “It must have been hard to go from living in a circus, to living in a city like Gotham.”

Dick nods. “Yes and no. Some parts were hard. Like not knowing anyone. In the circus they all knew me, and I knew them. Most of them even looked after me when I was a baby. But in the city, everyone is always in a rush. No one ever wants to stop and get to know each other.”

Clark smiled. “I know what you’re talking about. I had a similar reaction when I moved from Smallville to Metropolis. It gets better though. You just have to get someone to stop long enough to want to get to know you.”

The Ferris wheel starts their descent and slowly the stalls and people take on more detail as they get closer to them.

There’s a moment of silence and then Dick speaks again, “It wasn’t all bad. I had help with it all.”

The carriage swings closer to the ground and the two passengers spot Bruce standing at the base of the wheel, three jumbo size hotdogs balanced in his hands. He smiles when he sees them and attempts to wave.

Dick waves back and then turns to Clark. “Most of my family might be gone. But I think I’ve found a new one . . . or he found me,” he leans over and hugs Clark. “I would like for you to become part of it too . . . if you want.”

Clark hugs him back. “I would want that. Very much so.”

* * *

As much as Clark wanted to drop everything to help Bruce with the case, life still went on. Superman was still needed in Metropolis, natural disasters still ravaged people’s homes and no matter how much he wanted a day off, that just wasn’t an option for him.

Bruce had become . . . withdrawn to say the least. The Bat of Gotham had clamped down on crime like a vice, nothing happened in the city without him knowing, and still, Batman was no closer to solving the mystery of his sons' death and disappearance. Bruce Wayne had practically rescinded from his social life, the tabloids full of speculation, but Bruce didn’t care. He worked himself to exhaustion, determined to leave no stone unturned.

Even though he wouldn’t admit it, Tim’s death had affected Damian greatly. The boy was almost as crazy as Bruce, going out every night and beating his knuckles bloody. The rest of the family wasn’t much better. They were all running on fumes, becoming more and more disheartened as every lead went cold.

Clark knew the feeling. Many a night he had been out with them, combing the gritty underbelly of Gotham’s streets for even the inkling of a clue, but Clark had the advantage of being able to step away. To fly back to Metropolis, back to his little cubicle at the Daily Planet. He always returned, every night, but more often than not he was met with an empty bed and a Bruce that was slowly killing himself under the pressures of being Batman.

“Clark?”

“Huh?” Clark straightened from his thoughts and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“You looked like you zoned out on me there, Smallville,” Lois said.

“Yeah, I . . . uh . . . was just thinking.”

“About . . .” She leaned over further into his cubicle and peered at the half-written article on his computer screen, “. . . The city council meeting that discussed property zoning violations on Main Street?”

Clark glanced at the article that he should have been paying more attention to. He sighed, “Gotham.”

Lois leaned back in her desk chair. “Ah. Still no good news?”

“No. Just dead ends at every turn. It’s like we’re chasing ghosts, every time we think we’re close to a new breakthrough, it all falls apart.”

“How are you holding up?”

He sank down in his chair, no longer having the energy to hold himself up. “I don’t know.” He leant forward onto his desk and put his face in his hands. “I honestly don’t know what’s worse, knowing exactly how Tim died, or not knowing what happened to Dick.”

Lois wheeled her chair closer and put a steady hand on his back. “Clark I’ve never known you to give up on anyone, so please don’t give up on yourself.” She squeezed his shoulder then put her hand back in her lap. “You’ll figure this all out, I know you will. You and Bruce are a great team, you’ve never failed when working together before.”

That was just it, wasn’t it? The world's finest stumped on their own turf. Even before they had gotten together, Batman and Superman had had a professional relationship. They had been the bane of the criminal underworld, working together to uncover sinister plots and save the world.

But now Clark couldn’t even keep his family safe. He couldn’t keep the love of his life from tearing himself apart, so how was he supposed to solve a crime even the Batman couldn’t deal with?

Lois must have seen the look on his face. “How is Bruce?”

Clark scrubbed a tired hand down his face. “He’s crumbling. Not eating, not sleeping. Before, he would do things like this on difficult cases, but I could always convince him to take a break, to look after himself for the sake of his family. But now . . . he won't stop, he won't rest until he has answers.”

Lois nodded solemnly. “I understand. He never was good at grieving.”

Clark felt his stomach twist. Lois could have been only talking about Tim, but somehow he knew she was referencing Dick too. Was he the only one left that was still foolishly holding onto the hope that Dick was still alive?

“I —" The televisions that were fixed to the pillars of the office all switch to coverage of an apartment fire. “I guess I better go.”

“Be safe, Big Blue.”

Clark didn’t see the sorrow on her face as he walked to the closet.

\----

The fire roared around him, licking up walls and splintering wood as it raged through the building. The thick black smoke threatened to curl its way into his lungs but luckily Superman could hold his breath. The same couldn’t be said for the child in his arms, he zoomed out a window in a burst of super speed and deposited her into the arms of a weeping woman. Without stopping, he flew back into the blaze and used his X-ray vision to look for anyone still trapped in the wreckage. One last person, on the far side of the building. He sped forward, using his freeze breath to reinforce certain load bearing beams, and managed to catch a ceiling cave in before it landed on the elderly man.

“Quickly! Take my hand!” Clark could barely hear his own words over the deafening roar of the flames.

The man clutched at him desperately with frail hands. “Superman, please . . . my granddaughter!”

“Don’t worry I got her.” Superman held the man close and dropped the ceiling, before it fell, they were already outside.

The old man dropped to his knees at the sight of his granddaughter. “Thank you, Superman. You saved my life.”

“All in a day’s work, Sir.” Clark nodded then rose into the air in front of the building. Now that it was empty, he could safely put the flames out. He sucked in a chest full of air and then froze the flames in one breath.

The gathered crowd cheered as he descended, and the fire chief stepped forward. “Superman, I can’t even begin to express my gratitude.”

Superman shook his hand. “No need to, I could never have done it if you weren’t here to have my back. If you and your team hadn’t already been putting the flames out when I arrived, I’m sure the building would have already collapsed.”

The crowd chattered excitedly, some still clapping, but most of the noise was extinguished along with the fire. Now that the city had gone back to its normal level of sound, Clark became startlingly aware of the high pitched screech that reached his ears. It was loud, almost painfully so, and judging by the human reaction around him, he was the only one that could hear it.

He focused his hearing and his blood went cold. It was the cave alarm, a beacon set up specifically to warn Superman of danger.

His realisation must have shown because the firefighter raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “You okay there, Son? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I . . . I have to go.” He didn’t wait for a reply. Within seconds he had broken the sound barrier in his mad haste to get to Gotham. The noise got louder as he flew, a wailing alarm that bid him to the rescue. He had only heard it once before, when Bruce had first installed it and demonstrated it to him. Since then, there had never been a situation that warranted its use. If Batman needed backup he called Superman on comms. If Bruce needed to talk to Clark he called him on his phone. Most of the other times, Clark was already in Gotham since he lived in the manor with the family.

Which meant that if Bruce had triggered the alarm something bad enough had happened that he hadn’t had time to call him the normal way.

Clark put on another burst of speed as he crossed the bay. How long had the beacon been active? Surely he hadn’t been at the fire for too long? Surely Bruce was still all right?

Clark got to the manor. The lights were dark and upon listening, he couldn’t identify any heartbeats. He looked over to the garage and found that Alfred’s favourite Rolls Royce was missing. Clark listened closer, further under the house, in the cave, he could hear Bruce’s panicked heartbeat as it pulsed in his chest. That was all Clark needed to get him moving again. He swooped down behind the house to the access tunnel which the batmobile used to enter the cave. He could hear the tell-tale sounds of fighting and he nearly ripped the outside camouflage doors off their hinges as they mechanically slid open to allow him inside.

The tunnel was long and winding and he could hear the warped voices as they echoed through it from up ahead.

“Bruce Wayne, you have been selected by the Court to —"

“Never!” Bruce’s voice echoed.

There were more clashes of metal as the people up ahead struggled and then a loud crashing sound followed by a sharp cry of pain.

“Bruce!” Clark shouted as he finally entered the cave. It was oppressively dark, the lights having been severed by the intruders. And there were intruders, at least twenty if Clark was hearing the footfalls correctly. “B, where are you?”

There was a groan from up ahead. “Cla . . . you need to get out of here,” Bruce said weakly.

“Superman. We have been expecting you.” A voice hissed. Then, he heard the click of the lead lined vault open, and bright green light spilled out as the Kryptonite was exposed to the darkness.

Clark fell to his knees immediately, the nauseating effects of so much Kryptonite too much for him to bear. The dim light lit up the cave enough to see the surrounding area and he could make out the outline of Bruce laying bloody and battered on the ground only meters from him. All around them were people dressed in dark armour. Metal embellishments wrapped around their bodies and masks to make them look distinctively owlish.

Most of the intruders had brass coloured metal decoration, but one had silver and he plucked a shard of Kryptonite out of the vault and walked on quiet feet over to where Superman knelt in a prone position. “I knew you would come. Luckily, the Bat has always been paranoid enough to keep a stash of this wonderful rock around.”

Clark could feel himself begin to sweat. “What do you want.”

“Me?” The man pointed at himself with a sharp clawed finger. “I want for nothing. However, the Court of Owls wants Batman.” The man knelt beside Bruce and trailed a claw down his face, leaving a line of fresh blood in its wake.

Bruce was wavering in and out of consciousness but he still managed to flinch away from the man’s touch.

“Get away from him!”

The man looked up sharply. Clark was struck with the sudden realisation that he didn’t have a human heartbeat, in fact none of them did. The beats were slow- almost minutes apart in some cases. The other intruders stood eerily still as the silver man circled around Superman.

“Tut, tut, tut. You are in no position to make demands, _Clark.”_

Clark’s throat constricted. He didn’t know if it was due to the Kryptonite nausea or the fact that his identity was compromised. “Who are you?”

“I am Talon.” The silver talon straightened up to his full height. “Clark Kent, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.” He moved forward with inhuman speed and drove the shard of Kryptonite deep into Clark’s chest.

Clark gasped and keeled over, his bright red blood splattering on the ground beneath him. Talon left him there on the ground as he walked back over to Batman. “Don't . . . don’t touch him you bastard.” Blood spilled over Clark’s lips as he coughed.

“Why not?” the talon asked innocently. “He belongs to the Court now.”

“No! He never will!” Clark used his last remaining strength to prop himself up enough to look at the silver talon. Kryptonite poisoning sapped his powers, enough that he couldn’t use his super speed or strength, however he had enough will left in him to turn the last remaining bit of solar energy into X-ray vision. “I will find you. I will find your leaders and I will —"

Clark looked under the mask.

Dick Grayson stared back at him.

Clark gasped in shock then winced when it drove the Kryptonite shard deeper. “Dick. Dick, what are you doing?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper, the poison in his chest finally taking hold.

Dick didn’t acknowledge the name. “You will not find me, Superman. You will be dead.”

“No . . . no please. You can’t. Don’t . . .” Clark’s vision blurred as he started to lose consciousness. “Don’t take him.”

Talon bent down beside Bruce and slung the man over his shoulders effortlessly. The last thing Clark saw before he gave in to the darkness, was Dick leaving with a bruised and bloody Batman swinging from his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Major Character Death**
> 
> Well, that's the end of chapter 1! I hope you liked it <3
> 
> All comments and kudos are highly appreciated! 💖
> 
> Dick is the cutest kid ever, I honestly had so much fun writing him as an energetic pre-teen. 
> 
> Come see me on my Tumblr [aboutbatman!](https://aboutbatman.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg what a cliffhanger... good job this is part of the DCU Big Bang and you can just read chapter 2 straight away!
> 
> Also you can't convince me Jason didn't have spiky hair as a child.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> **∆∆∆Trigger Warning in end notes (Spoiler)∆∆∆**

Clark had always liked the batsuit. It was an amalgamation of everything Bruce; regally dark, brooding, and brutal with its wicked gauntlet blades and impassive mask. The ears lengthened it in a way that made it foreboding, and the cape enwrapped the armour to smudge the outline in just the right way so that it would look like gigantic black wings in low light.

Bruce had been fighting injustice on the streets and back alleys of Gotham long before he had conceived Batman, but the suit finally allowed him to strike a cold fear into criminal’s hearts just by casting a pointy eared shadow across an alley.

The suit had become a symbol of superstition for the criminals, while simultaneously becoming a sign of hope for the rest of Gotham. A sign that someone cared, that someone would try and put a stop to the corruption and the lies even when no one else would. The suit wasn’t Batman, but it had allowed Batman to be born in a way Bruce hadn’t been able to translate into reality before it.

It was familiar, every black curve and angle accounted for in Clark’s mind from years of removing the suit from Bruce’s body. He ran a hand over a thigh plate and tried to lock it in firmer to its setting. All those years of stripping Bruce out of the suit apparently hadn’t prepared him for just how long it would take to put on.

Damian strode over to Clark and batted his clumsy hands away. “Tsk. Give that to me. See the flat edge?” He held up the thigh plate to Clark’s eye level. “You slot it in first. That way you don’t have to worry about ruining this feat of my Father’s engineering by using your super strength to force things into place.”

“I wasn’t going to! I just was trying to give it an encouraging push.” Clark protested and stood to fasten his black cape — at least that was something he already knew how to do. “I just didn’t expect the batsuit to be so. . . fiddly.”

Damian pouted. “Humans, _normal_ humans, that don’t have superpowers have to wear armour. Lots of it, or they’ll die from some misbegotten fall or unfortunate stabbing.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and managed to look disapproving even though he was craning his neck up to see Clark’s face. “If you are to fool the general public, then you must wear the suit. I would have assumed you would understand how to don it correctly by now since you’ve been wearing it for the past fortnight.”

They had relocated to Metropolis three weeks ago after Alfred had retuned home to the manor to find Bruce missing and Clark half dead in the Batcave. After Alfred had successfully removed the kryptonite and saved Clark from the brink of death, he had elected to move the three of them to one of Bruce’s penthouse safehouses he had specifically told Clark about in case Gotham no longer became safe for the family.

Two weeks ago, the security system in the penthouse had alerted Clark that a proximity alarm had been triggered in the Batcave. He’d flown there, ready to face the hoard of talons again, but instead he had found Damian alone and staring up at the glass holding case for one of Bruce’s batman suits.

_“Damian, what are you doing here?”_

_Clark got closer, to the point where he could see that the display case was open slightly and that Damian was wearing one of Bruce’s massive gauntlets on his hand._

_Damian looked up at him, a terrible sort of despair in his eyes. “Father’s disappearance cannot coincide with Batman’s. It will shed too much suspicion on the family.”_

_“Damian —”_

_“I —we can’t risk scrutiny, if the media finds us in Metropolis then the Court will too.” His voice was dry and sharp, almost as if he had been shouting or crying. Or both._

_Damian made a move to take more of the suit out of its display. Clark put a hand on the boy’s arm to stop him. “Damian, I’m not letting you put on that suit. It’s not safe to go out in Gotham.” Not to mention the suit was about ten sizes too big for the boy. The one glove he had on dwarfed Damian’s hand, Clark couldn’t bear to see how much the rest of the suit drowned the boy if he put it on._

_Damian glared at him. “I’ve calculated I only need to be seen in at least six key locations throughout Gotham for the next fortnight, and then at least three times a week for the next month to make the public believe Batman is still patrolling.”_

_“No,” Clark said firmly._

_“I’ll be safe. I don’t even need to engage a criminal,” Damian pleaded. “I just need to be seen.”_

_It hurt Clark to think that a child thought they needed to do this alone. He looked down at the boy and saw raw determination in his eyes —along with the penance for stubbornness he had inherited from Bruce —Clark knew Damian wouldn’t back down from this._

_“I’ll do it,” Clark said. Damian’s logic did have a certain truth to it. Bruce and Batman going missing in the same month? It was too much of a coincidence for someone not to notice._

So, Clark had become Batman thinking that he would simply flip his cape a few times and lurk in the shadows enough to be noticed. Except one of the drawbacks of being a hero meant he couldn’t simply sit back and watch as innocent people were hurt.

Clark fastened the yellow utility belt of gadgets around his waist. “Well, maybe if Bruce’s feet weren’t so small it wouldn’t take me ten minutes to get the boots on.”

Damian raised a brow. “Well maybe if _your_ feet weren’t so monstrously large you would be able to —"

The comm in Clark’s ear crackled to life and Barbara’s voice carried through the speaker. “Can you two quit your bickering. It’s showtime.”

Clark straightened up. “What have you got for me, Oracle?”

“Silent alarm tripped at the Gotham Natural History Museum. Police ETA twenty-five minutes. I suggest you work fast, the Twilight Moon diamond exhibition is being held there.”

“Got it.” Clark ruffled Damian’s hair to the boy’s chagrin. “I’ll try and be home before tomorrow morning. Then we can go through the police files on possible talon sightings again, okay?”

Damian positioned himself out of Clark’s reach. “See to it that you come back in one piece. We can’t risk the armour getting damaged.”

Clark smiled at Damian’s version of ‘Stay safe. Please come home’. “See you soon, kiddo.” He walked to the penthouse balcony and lifted off into the air towards Metropolis’s sister city.

Gotham was not an easy city to patrol. It was especially not easy after a day of saving Metropolis from killer robots. Clark had to admit that after only two weeks of being both Superman and Batman it was beginning to wear on him. He was constantly tired, pulled this-way and that-way by both cities until he would go days without stopping for a break.

The only saving grace was the time he had got off work. He didn’t even know how he could have managed both cities while also trying to squeeze in time to write articles.

He flew for a few minutes in silence until Barbara chimed back in with directions. “Fly past the museum, just East of it is an office building which should provide you enough cover to grapple over.”

“I see it.” Clark touched down behind the water tank on the roof of the office building. He got his grapple gun out and aimed for one of the gothic spires on the museum. Superman could easily fly straight to the building, but in Gotham you could never be sure exactly who was watching, so he and Oracle had decided that once Clark entered Gotham as Batman, he would use the grapple gun to get about — or at least make it look like he was.

He shot the gun and inwardly sighed with relief when the grapple stuck on the first try. Bruce had made it look easy, half the time he had shot the grapple without even looking where he had aimed it, yet it was harder than it looked. Clark hadn’t counted the amount of times that he had either missed the target, or picked an anchor point that wasn’t suitable for the grapple claw, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Barbara was keeping a tally.

He stepped off the roof and swung, helping his swing arc slightly with his flight ability when he sensed the line wasn’t tense enough.

“Do you see a skylight near the North-East quadrant of the building?” Oracle asked.

Clark landed on the museum roof and made his way towards a section of glass. “Yes. Should I enter here?”

“Wait until I turn off the alarm. Okay, 3. . .2. . .1. . .go.”

Clark crouched beside the glass and dug his fingers under the lip of one of the windows to lift it up. “Uh, Oracle. How should I get down? I can’t grapple onto anything inside.”

“Can you jump?”

Clark peered over the edge of the window to look down into the museum building. The skylight happened to be part of a very high ceiling. “I mean _I_ can. But I think ‘Batman’ might break his legs.”

“Hold on one sec, I’ll turn the cameras off. Just make sure no one is in the vicinity when you get down.”

“Will do.” Clark listened for any nearby heartbeats. There were three on the floor he was accessing, none were near him, and two seemed to be considerably slowed down as if they were unconscious. He slipped inside the glass, gracefully floating down onto the hardwood floor. “I’m in.”

“Good. Blueprints show that the high security area is in the west wing of the building. I’m guessing that’s where the diamond was being displayed, and that we’ll find our intruder there.”

Clark crept through the darkened hallways of the museum. He made sure to be as silent as possible by slightly hovering a few millimetres off the ground, while still looking like he was walking like a normal human to any undetected prying eyes. He turned a corner past a large exhibit on sabre tooth tigers and stopped in his tracks when he spied the slumped figures of the two security guards. “Oracle come in.”

“I’m here. What have you got?” Barbara asked.

Clark moved toward them slowly. “Security guards outside the diamond exhibit.” He checked their vitals with his super senses. “Slight bruising around their necks, I think someone choked them out.”

“Move forward with caution. I haven’t spotted anyone on the exterior cameras so I think our thief is still in there. Be advised that the camera feeds are cut to the diamond room, so you’ll be on your own once you enter,” she said.

“Understood,” he replied. Clark moved into the room cautiously, careful to stick to the shadows as best he could. One perk of wearing all black he supposed — he actually blended in with the surroundings rather than draw attention to himself with bright reds and blues.

The diamond exhibit was large with multiple cases full of glittering displays of jewellery dotted around the room. The prize of the collection though, was a sizable pale green diamond named the ‘Twilight Moon’. Its case was in the centre of the room on a raised dais surrounded by a web of red laser beams. The lasers were still active, but the main problem was that the diamond itself was very obviously _not there_. “Oracle, it’s gone.”

“I just got a ping on one of the motion sensors in the West corridor. Hurry.”

“On it.” Clark ran towards the West corridor and sure enough, he could hear the third heartbeat he had detected earlier, hammering away in the assailant’s chest as they made a break for it. He bolted towards them as fast as he could at human speed but when he got to the corridor it was dark and empty.

Clark took light steps forward, scanning every shadow and possible hiding spot as he walked down the rows of displays. “I know you’re hiding. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

There was a crash as the grating of one of the air vents was pushed forward and then something was jumping out at him. “Did someone say tall, dark and handsome!” the man shouted as he lunged at Batman.

Clark tried to sidestep him, but the man’s body elongated and wrapped around him like a rope. He struggled but the body tightened around his torso, pinning his arms to his own chest. “Get off me!”

The intruder was dressed in a costume that looked straight out of the circus. He had a black and white chequered top and an expressionless white mask that was framed by stringy red hair. “If you insist.”

The man corkscrewed off him, his long limbs shortening until they looked just slightly too long. He turned his body away as he spoke, but his head remained pointed towards Clark. “I’m afraid I shan’t stay long my dear. Places to be, people to see and all that.”

“I don’t think so.” Clark reached into his belt and brandished a batarang. “Give me the diamond.”

“The diamond? I’m afraid I have no idea what you are referencing.”

The man attempted to stretch past Clark, but he caught him in his arms, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“My, my, what strong arms you have, Mr Batman,” Ragdoll jested in a sing-song voice.

Barbara’s voice came over the comm, “Careful, Batman. This is Ragdoll. He can contort his body any way he likes.”

The warning came too late however, because in seconds Ragdoll had twisted out of Clark’s grip and thrown him to the floor. “Toodle loo!” he exclaimed. His arms rushed forward toward an open window and he used them like a slingshot to fling himself out of the building.

“Dammit. The guy is slippery.”

“Don’t say I didn’t tell you,” Barbara laughed in his ear. “Exterior cameras have him on the lower roof of the ground floor gallery. It looks like he’s heading for the parking lot at the back of the building.”

Clark ran to the window and flew down to the lower roof but angled his feet down to make it look like he had jumped. Ragdoll dodged around one of the building’s gothic spires just as Clark landed in a roll. “Stop!

Ragdoll’s high-pitched giggle carried across the roof. “I don’t think so, Batman!”

Clark sprinted across the roof using just enough speed to catch up with the villain. He tackled the man and they both sprawled to the ground as the green diamond skittered across the gravel. Ragdoll laughed nervously. “Oh, you meant _that_ diamond. Yeah that’s mine.”

Ragdoll punched Clark in the face, he just about remembered to roll his head with the punch before Ragdoll could break his hand. Both men grappled as the villain attempted to dive toward the diamond. Clark caught his hands behind his back, but the man just slithered to the ground and managed to get out of the hold.

“Gonna have to try better than that, Batman!” He danced over to the diamond on elongated legs and leaped away to the other side of the roof. Clark ran after him, multiple ideas on how to actually subdue Ragdoll running through his head.

Then he heard it.

An earthquake in Argentina followed by the frightened screams of its citizens. Clark couldn’t exactly turn his hearing off, he was constantly listening on a subconscious level, able to ‘tune out’ the background noise as he went about his day-to-day life. However, the great rumble and tearing of rock that signified an earthquake. . . that wasn’t exactly something he could tune out.

Clark froze in his tracks, this was the first time in two weeks that both Batman and Superman had been needed at the same time. What was he supposed to do? Innocent people needed his help in Argentina, yet Ragdoll had already hurt two security guards, what if he hurt more people in his bid to escape?

He watched as Ragdoll got further and further away. He needed to act fast, yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't be in two places at once.

In the distance Ragdoll fell to his knees wrapped in static flashes of electricity. Red Hood stepped out from behind a pillar and knocked the man unconscious with a kick to the head.

Jason’s distorted voice rang out over the rooftop, “I heard you were creeping about Gotham.” He retrieved his electrifying device off of Ragdoll’s body and then stalked towards Clark. “Although I wouldn’t have guessed the famous boy scout in blue would ever wear so much black.”

“Jason.” Clark couldn’t see his face behind the red helmet, but he could tell Jason was glaring at him.

“Why are you doing this?”

“This?” Clark asked.

“The suit,” Jason said accusingly.

Clark looked down at the bat symbol on his chest. “The city needs him.”

“So, you thought you’d be the one to do it?”

He understood why Jason was so offended. It was a heavy symbol to bear and sometimes Clark felt as though he wasn’t worthy enough to wear it. “They —the public —can’t think he’s dead. If they do, if they lose their faith in him at a time like this. . .” Clark trailed off. There wasn’t a lot to be hopeful for in Gotham, and with the Court of Owls hanging over the city like a black cloud, he could only imagine the type of melancholy that would settle over its inhabitants if they thought their dark protector had been killed.

Jason’s fists opened and closed by his side. “I suppose that’s true.” The expressionless mask stared Clark down as Jason thought on his next words. “Why did you falter? Ragdoll nearly got away. You’re lucky I was following you.”

“You were following me?”

Red Hood nodded. “I’ve been meaning to have this conversation since I heard Batman had been sighted. Now answer the question. Why did you falter?”

Under Jason’s gaze Clark felt like a child in his father’s boots. “I need to leave. I need to go and be Superman. There was an earthquake two minutes ago,” he explained.

Jason turned his head to look back at Ragdoll’s slumped form. He nodded in understanding. “And you couldn’t leave because of him.” He sighed. “Go help wherever you need to be. I’ll deal with Gotham tonight.”

Clark went to step away but halted. It was a slim chance, but he needed to try. “Jay, this is going to keep happening. Batman and Superman. . . they can’t be the same person.”

Jason tensed as if ready for a fight. “What are you getting at?”

“There always needs to be a Bat in Gotham.” Clark looked through the mask and made sure he held Jason’s gaze. “And it can’t be me.”

Jason’s shoulders sagged under his leather jacket. “I was afraid you’d say that. Fine. I’ll be Batman for the betterment of the city and all that crap.” He shook his head and let out a short laugh. “I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

* * *

Jason is small for his age. He has thin, bony wrists, barely comes to Clark’s chest, and wears clothes in sizes two age groups below his own. That being said, the kid can put food away like he is a grown man.

“Go easy, Jason. You might choke,” Clark says with concern.

Jason can barely close his mouth around the burger as he tries to fit as much of it inside his mouth in one bite. “Mfts phine,” he manages to say around the mouthful. He chews a few times then swallows harshly. “It’s fine.”

Clark pushes the fries toward him in the hopes that he will be less likely to choke on them. “Just slow it down a little for me, okay?”

Jason rolls his eyes but only takes a few fries to shove into his mouth rather than a handful. “When is Bruce getting here?”

They are at a small diner nestled in the heart of Gotham. It’s the pinnacle of greasy spoons, nearly everything on the menu is loaded with cheese and bacon, and the desserts are so sweet they hurt Clark’s teeth just by looking at them. It’s only been a few months since Bruce first took Jason home. Since then, the boy has latched onto him, wanting to spend every waking moment by Bruce’s side.

“He told me he would get out of work at 2pm today.” Clark flicks his wrist around to look at his watch. “I’d say he’ll get here in the next ten minutes.”

Clark and Jason haven’t bonded as well as him and Bruce had. Jason is a street rat through and through, and even if Bruce had been raised with a silver spoon in his mouth, he is still a child of the city just as much as Jason is. The Gotham streets had claimed both their parents, whether it was on one side of crime or the other, it didn’t matter. They can relate to each other in ways that Clark simply can’t.

He is a farm boy, raised in the fresh air and wide expanses of Kansas backcountry. Nothing about their childhoods match — except for their shared love of apple pie. Since he had found out their one similarity, Clark hasn’t passed up the opportunity to exploit it to allow him and Jason to spend some more bonding time together.

Jason stuffs more of the burger in his mouth and chews happily, feet swinging under the table as he eats. “Thanks for bringing me here by the way. I always wanted to try this place, but we could never afford it.”

Clark looks around the diner. It looks fairly average inside. Red plastic seats, black table tops and a counter with a burly looking cook flipping burgers at the grill. Red light spills in through the window from where the neon sign reading ‘Carl’s Diner’ blazes above the door. Clark can’t imagine thinking a place like this could ever be considered expensive. “It’s no problem, Jay. Just thought you could do with a little meat on those bones.”

Jason grins as much as he can with his mouth filled with food. “Something tells me that Alfie wouldn’t be too pleased to see what I’m eating. All he goes on about is vegetables this, and vegetables that.”

Clark smiles and wraps his hands around his coffee mug. “Alfred is just trying to make sure you get enough vitamins to grow up big and strong.”

Jason takes a sip of his strawberry milkshake. “I hate vegetables. They taste gross.”

Clark shrugs. “Well, if you want to get as strong as me, you’ll have to eat them.” He leans forward conspiringly and points at his flexing biceps. “Radioactive corn.”

Jason gives him an unimpressed look. “I know you didn’t get your powers from radioactive corn. If you had, Bruce would have told me.”

Clark steals a fry off of Jason’s plate. “Where do I get my powers from, then?”

Jason opens his mouth to reply and then closes it again. He squints at Clark suspiciously. “Where _do_ they come from?”

Clark shovels more fries into his mouth. “Eat your vegetables and maybe you’ll find out.”

Jason eyes the tomato slice he had pulled out of his burger before deciding to eat it. He pulls a sour face. “It’s so slimy.”

Clark smiles at him. In many ways he is similar to Dick. Black hair, blue eyes, and a penchant for getting himself into trouble. But, just as similarly, he’s completely and utterly different. Where Dick had a graceful way to his decisions; Jason is more spirited. He runs head first into things like a bull seeking the colour red — head first without thinking of the consequences.

One of those bad decisions led the boy to steal the tires off of the batmobile. Clark shudders to think of what would have happened if the wrong person had found Jason that night. If Bruce hadn’t been there to take him under his wing.

“How is school going?” Clark asks.

Jason scowls. “It’s boring and full of idiots.”

Clark waits a moment, allowing Jason time to elaborate, before he decides to speak. “Are the idiots why you’ve been coming home with bruises on your knuckles?”

“No.”

Clark raises his eyebrow.

Jason looks away from him. “Maybe.”

Jason had been surprisingly reluctant to go to school. He had lamented that he didn’t need to go and that he could stay at home with them. For someone that ran the streets of Gotham alone, he was worryingly attached to Bruce. For the first few weeks, Jason would go much of the day glued to his side, only ever straying away if Alfred or Clark asked him to help with a chore. Clark and Bruce had talked about Jason’s dependency problems and decided school would be the best option.

Although Clark had to wonder if Bruce was just a _little_ attached to Jason too. Dick and him had left on bad terms, and for months before Jason’s arrival, Bruce had been a shadow of himself. Once Jason was in the picture, it was like the man was determined to pour all of his attention into the kid for fear that they would end up not talking like Bruce and Dick.

“You know you can come to me or Bruce and tell us if something is going on, right? We can talk to the teachers —”

“No.” Jason sighs and picks at the remainder of his burger bun. “Look, I ain’t being bullied or some bullshit like that.”

Clark looks at him and decides he believes him. “Then what’s going on?”

Jason bites his lip. “I promised I wouldn’t tell.” His eyes meet Clark’s. “If you promise not to rat to the teachers, I’ll tell you.”

Clark wants to smile. Jason knows Clark won’t break his word and he’s got to give it to the boy — he knows how to play the game to his advantage. “Okay. I promise.”

Jason takes another sip of his milkshake. “There’s this kid, real scrawny type, even smaller than me. Well, a group of kids decided they don’t like him, so they’ve been ruffing him up.” Jason grins. “I decided to step in and show them how to throw a real punch. Just like Bruce showed me.”

“Jason, you can’t just beat up the bullies. You need to tell a teacher,” Clark says in exasperation.

“Why not!” Jason protests. “You and Bruce do it all the time! Besides, it’s working. They haven’t bothered the kid for a few days.”

“Still, the teachers —”

“Won’t do shit. They don’t care about stopping bullies. They only care about keeping the peace.”

Clark listens to the words of the child in front of him and finds them hauntingly similar to many of the establishments and governing bodies he deals with as both Superman and as reporter Clark Kent.

Jason continues, “Plus we can’t tell anyone. The boy’s parents will kill him if they think he’s been fighting, even if it isn’t his own fault.”

Clark sighs in defeat. Once Jason makes his mind up about something, there’s nothing anyone can say or do to persuade him otherwise. “If things don’t get better will you at least come and tell me or Bruce?”

“Fine.” Jason pushes the remainder of his burger bun around his plate. “Can we get dessert?”

Clark looks at his watch again. “I suppose.” He signals their waitress over.

She is a short woman, with fiery red hair and freckles covering her entire face. “You two boys enjoy your meal?” she asks with a thick Narrows accent as she gathers up their plates.

Clark catches her name tag pinned to the top of her apron. “We sure did Judy, right Jason?” he says.

Jason sits up politely and nods. “Yes, ma’am. Best burger in Gotham I reckon.”

Judy gathers the plates together in one stack and balances them on one arm. “Well aren’t you just the cutest,” she says with a big smile. “Can I get you boys anything else?”

Jason sits up further in his seat at the prospect of more food. “Do you have apple pie?”

“Of course, darling,” she replies.

Clark holds up three fingers. “We’ll take three slices please.”

“Com’n right up,” Judy says before disappearing behind the doors to the dish washer’s station.

Clark and Jason talk for a few more minutes before the bell above the entrance door chimes as a figure wrapped in a long black coat pushes it open. Jason twists in his seat and waves at Bruce as he makes his way over.

“What took you so long?” Jason asks as Bruce slides into the booth beside Clark.

Bruce unwraps a dark green scarf from around his neck. “Sorry, I know I’m not normally in the office at weekends but there was a problem with the Galtech merger.”

Clark leans over and gives him a light kiss on the cheek in greeting. “It’s okay. We ordered you some apple pie if you want it.”

Bruce rakes his hand through his hair wet from the rain. “I would like that, yes. And hopefully some coff —"

“Coffee top-up?” Judy asks as she slides up to their table with the tray of dessert in one hand and a pot of hot coffee in the other. “I took the liberty of bringing you a mug when I saw you walk in looking like a drowned dog.”

Bruce takes the offered cup and holds it between his hands like a life-line. “You don’t know how much I needed this.”

She fills it with hot liquid and then refills Clark’s. “I think I can guess,” she says with a wink as she offloads the apple pie plates from her tray. “Anything else?”

Bruce brings the coffee to his lips and groans as he takes a drink. Clark gives a grateful smile to Judy. “That’s all for now, thanks,” he says.

“Not a bother.” Judy sticks the tray under her arm and walks to the next table with her coffee pot.

Bruce nearly downs half of his coffee before he finally looks back up at them. “So, what have you two been up to while I was away?”

Jason shrugs as he lifts his spoon and digs into his pie slice. “Nothing much. Just school and stuff.”

Yes. _School._ Clark has promised not to tell the teacher’s, but he hasn’t made any promises not to tell Bruce. They will definitely need to have a talk about that later. Clark looks down at Bruce’s scarf that he had left on the seat between them. It is clearly handmade, knitted in stripes of a dark green and then a lighter green wool. “Is that the scarf Ma made you last Christmas?”

Bruce hums around a mouthful of sugared apples. “Yes, it’s the one she gifted me.”

Clark smiles inwardly. Bruce can afford any clothing he wants. In fact, he has two entire walk-in wardrobes dedicated to all of his designer wear. It’s nice to see him in something Martha has made.

Bruce stops midway to bringing another spoonful of pie to his mouth. “Speaking of gifts actually. . .” He reaches a hand into the inner pockets of his coat and pulls out a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. He slides it across the table to Jason. “I know Christmas isn’t for another month, but I thought I should give this to you now.”

Jason shakes the package, but it makes no noise. “What is it?

Clark eats a huge spoonful of pie in an attempt to catch up with Bruce and Jason. “Open it and find out,” he says.

Jason rips open the brown paper to reveal a plain looking book. The gold lettering on its cover reads 'Lorenzaccio by Musset’. “A book!” Jason says in delight.

Another surprising thing they have learned about Jason — he likes to read. Although in some strange way it almost makes sense. Jason is a street kid, faced with going home to a junkie mother and an abusive father, or going to the streets, it's only natural that Jason would end up in one of the only places a child with no money would be welcome; the library.

Bruce takes another sip of his coffee. “A play. A _French_ play to be exact. I thought it might be a good way for you to work on your French outside of tutoring.”

Jason goes to flip over the cover, but Bruce nearly drops his mug in an effort to stop him. Bruce’s eyes flick down to the burger grease and sugar from the apple pie on Jason’s fingers. “Maybe wait until you’ve washed your hands until you touch it. I got you a first edition.”

Jason rips his hands away from the book and stares down at it with an air of reverence. “A _first edition_ play,” he says in awe as he rakes his eyes over it. “I don’t think I’ve ever even been to a play.”

Clark chuckles. Jason and Bruce share their love for books. Especially old ones. His eyes catch on Bruce’s and the man gives him the ‘go ahead’ look. “Well we did think that you might not have had a chance to see a real play before, so we got you these.” Clark reaches into his own coat pocket and brings out three tickets for ‘The Nutcracker’ performed at the opera house.

Jason’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Wait for real? I get to go to a play!?”

Bruce smiles and nods. “Yes. They are box seats too, so I’m going to have to take you to get fitted for a suit.”

Jason grins at them and then looks down at his new book. “Best. Day. _Ever.”_

* * *

For the most part, the other boys had always eventually taken easily to Clark. Bruce was strong and reliable, he wasn’t unapproachable, at least not to his sons, but he had a stubborn streak in him a mile wide. Often more than not Clark was the one they would turn to when they needed some emotional assurance.

With Damian it had taken longer. Whereas Clark was the easy-going parent for the others, to Damian he was just the man —no, the _alien_ —that had stolen his father away from his mother. Of course, Bruce and Clark had started dating long after Bruce had turned his back on the league of assassins, and by extension Talia. But to the boy, it didn’t matter. When Damian looked to his father, he found Clark by his side instead of the woman who raised him.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Clark asked.

“Tsk. I hardly see why that matters.” Damian didn’t bother to look at Clark, instead he continued to stare at the binder of evidence in his lap. Scattered pieces of paper and grainy photographs of shadowy figures spanned out over the desk in front of him, and in some places, he had begun to pin them to the walls.

Things had become restless in the past few weeks. No new talon sightings coupled with the mind numbing drag of time had cooked up the perfect storm of everyone involved feeling both utterly useless and frustrated that they couldn’t do more.

Alfred flitted about the apartment fixing and fretting over things that he had already cleaned and reorganised a thousand times over. Damian was unsettled, in the first few weeks he had barely slept, and that had melded into him not sleeping at all in favour of pouring over every available detail they had about the Court of Owls.

It didn’t help that Clark and Alfred had forbidden him from going out as Robin and collecting the evidence himself. Clark wasn’t much better, his time not spent at the Daily Planet or in the apartment was spent in Gotham trying to find any scrap of evidence that would point towards finding Bruce and Dick.

Clark sighed and stepped further into Damian’s room. “Because you are a growing boy and need your sleep. Damian, it’s not healthy.”

“I regularly skipped sleep when I was working on cases with Batman. I know my limits, Kent. A few days without going to bed won’t kill me.”

“Days?! Damian you can’t keep doing this.”

Damian did look up then, there were bags under his eyes, but he still managed an air of regality as he said, “I don’t expect an _alien_ like you to understand. _You_ don’t even get tired.”

True in a sense, physically it took a doomsday level event to exhaust him. But mentally? The bone weary ache in his body and the constant headache behind Clark’s eyes begged to differ. “Give that to me.” Clark leant forward to grab the case file off Damian’s lap. “You’re going to bed.”

He hated doing this. Of everyone in the family Damian had always been closer to Dick and Bruce. When they talked, he listened. They knew exactly what to say to him to get through to him, he had been difficult in the beginning, hardened to life from a young age through his harsh trailing with the league, but over time he had learned to respect them in a way that ensured his trust and loyalty.

Before the kidnapping, Clark had actually managed to see an improvement in their relationship. Damian had graduated from exclusively calling him alien to calling him Kent and then Clark. Sure, there was work to be done, but Clark could take what he could get when it came to moody teenagers. Still, Bruce, and Dick to an extent, had still been firmly the parental influence in Damian’s life — a role that also encompassed discipline. With them gone, it was finally time for Clark to step up to the plate.

Damian snarled and gripped onto the case-files, unwilling to let them go even in a tug of war with Superman. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Let go of the dossier, Damian. You’ve spent too much time staring at it.”

The boy let go but sprang to his feet and clenched his fists at his sides. “At least I am taking the time to actually try and solve this case. You are too busy playing a foolish reporter and gallivanting around as Superman to care.”

Clark tried to not let the hurt show on his face. “You know that’s not true.” Clark shook his head and rubbed at his temple. Is this how Bruce had felt every time Damian had sought to challenge him when he first arrived in Gotham? “We aren’t having this argument.”

Damian huffed and crossed his arms.

“Go to bed. _Now.”_ Clark tried to be assertive, he really did. However trying to coerce children into agreeing to bedtime had never been his strong point.

 _“_ Do not assume to tell me what to do. You aren’t my father, no matter how much you try to be, you will _never_ live up to him.” Damian’s face was red as he spoke, all the anger and frustration pouring into his words. He went to move past Clark to leave the room.

Clark didn’t try to physically stop him, but he did follow him out into the hallway. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out.”

“Where?”

“Wherever I want!” Damian shouted as he whirled to face Clark while he roughly shoved on his coat.

Images of clawed hands latching onto Damian and dragging him into the dark flashed through Clark’s mind. “No, you’re not. I’ve told you before, you are _not_ to set foot in Gotham.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “So, I’m not allowed out at all now?” he snarled. “Are you planning on keeping me prisoner with you in this miserable penthouse?”

Alfred, who Clark hadn’t even heard come into the corridor, stepped forward. “Perhaps it would be best if Master Damian took a few moments to himself outside in the fresh air.”

“Alfred, it’s not safe —”

Alfred looked at him with a steady gaze. “I’m sure Master Damian will activate his locator beacon if he runs into anything troublesome.” The butler’s eyes flicked to Damian and he raised a questioning brow. “Correct?”

“Yes.” Damian agreed, albeit reluctantly.

“Good.” Alfred stepped forward and smoothed down the collar of Damian’s coat. “I trust you will return within the hour?”

The boy nodded.

Alfred reclined his head toward the door. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

Damian gave a slight smile at the old butler and then ducked out of the door. Alfred closed it behind him and took his time to reinstate the security system locks.

“Was I too hard on him?” Clark asked after a minute.

Alfred sighed and beckoned him into the lounge. “I think you did your best, Master Kent.”

Clark let out a huff of air as he sank into one of the expensive armchairs. “Sometimes I have no idea what I’m doing.” He rested his head against the high back. “I wish Bruce were here. He always knew what to do.”

Glasses clinked as Alfred busied himself at the counter. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“What do you mean?” Clark asked.

Alfred finished pouring the brandy and handed one glass over to Clark. He took a sip from his own glass before sitting in one of the opposite chairs with a creak from his joints. “Well, Master Kent, I will let you in on a little secret.” He leaned forward slightly and whispered, “No one really knows what they are doing.”

Clark’s eyebrows rose. “Even you.”

Alfred nodded with a smile and settled back further into his seat. “Yes, even me.” He paused, momentarily lost in a thought. “I had no idea what to do when the Waynes died. One minute I was the family butler, and the next I was solely responsible for its heir.” He took another sip of his drink. “It is not something they teach you in butler training, I’m afraid.”

“It must have been hard.”

“It was. Raising a child alone is not easy. Raising a child that has lost everything. . . well, you must learn as you go. Sometimes I made mistakes, other times I did not.” Alfred looked down into his glass and swirled his ice. “It is not something you can repeat from child to child. Each of them are unique and require a different approach.”

“And Damian?” Clark asked.

Alfred set his tumbler on the low coffee table. “In many ways he reminds me of Bruce at his age. Filled with purpose, brimming with a need to do something to avenge the injustice in the world, but in many ways he is different. Whereas Bruce was more calculating, he is ardent in his need to jump into the fray.”

Clark pulled at a loose thread at the edge of his chair. “He can’t go to Gotham. The Court killed Tim in their attempt to get him. Do you really think Damian won’t put up just as much of a fight if they get their hands on him?”

“I know. But he is a growing boy. He cannot be cooped up in this penthouse with two old men. Not that you are old, Master Kent.”

Clark laughed and took a sip of his drink. It warmed his throat on the way down, that was enough reason to drink it, even if the actual drink itself would never get him drunk. “Don’t worry, you can’t offend me, I have thick skin.”

A wry smile worked its way onto Alfred's face. “Quite literally.” He was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Not everyone will have a good relationship with their father, but I do believe you are doing right by the boy. In time, he will see it too.”

Clark thought about his own parents. His Ma and Pa had always had his best interests at heart, even if he hadn’t thought so at the time. “What was your dad like?” Clark asked.

Alfred shrugged with one shoulder and huffed a laugh. “We had our differences. Jarvis Pennyworth was a proper gentleman. He had his place in life and he expected me to have mine too.”

“I’m sure he loved you,” Clark said.

“He did. There was no question about love. But he did not have time for my ‘little eccentricities. . . acting. . . botany, he was always pestering me to take up a trade more sensible to prepare me for life.” Alfred laughed and shook his head. “As if anything could have prepared me for life in the manor.”

Clark laughed too. “Yes, I can’t see there being butler training for a family like ours.”

“Certainly not,” Alfred agreed.

A silence stretched between them as both men lost themselves to their thoughts of the past.

Clark tipped his glass up and finished his drink. He twirled it in his hands, watching as the light filtered through the cut crystal. “Do you think I should increase my patrols in Gotham? I know Jason said he had it covered but I could probably —"

Alfred interrupted, “Master Bruce may not be here, but I believe he would find your efforts adequate. Afterall, even with all your strength, you cannot bleed a rock.”

He stood and walked over to Clark to lay a hand on his shoulder. “The talons will show their faces in Gotham again, and when they do, I know you will be there to find them.”

* * *

They don’t make it up to the manor. They don’t even make it to the stairs. Instead, they fall into each other's arms in the batwing bay of the cave. Hands scrabble at armour and then cloth until both men bare their skin to each other. They kiss with a reverence, lips locked and hands gripping onto each other like a lifeline.

“You still smell of smoke.” Bruce pants between kisses.

Clark mouths the point between Bruce’s neck and shoulder. “Mhm. You taste of it.”

Bruce pushes Clark back and off him and takes his hand to pull him towards the shower room. “Perhaps we should do something about that,” he says as he looks up under his lashes.

Clark draws Bruce closer to him by tightening an arm around his waist. He looks around, the cave is mostly empty on account of it being 3 pm, Jason should be getting out of school soon and Alfred will have already left to collect him. That gives them at least thirty minutes. “I think that’s an excellent idea.” Clark whisks Bruce off his feet and in the blink of an eye he deposits him in one of the large showers.

Bruce surges up to kiss him as Clark backs him further into the wall. The Batcave’s showers are large; there are three in total, and each can easily fit four people. They hit the wall right under a wide showerhead and Clark reaches behind Bruce to flick the water on.

Bruce gives a sharp gasp as cold water flows out of the shower like rain, drenching both men that stand underneath it. Bruce’s skin pebbles. “Clark! You did that on purpose, you bastard!”

Clark swipes a thumb over Bruce’s face as the water starts to heat up. Half of his face, the half the cowl covers, was clean, while the lower half was coloured with soot. Lava monsters had swarmed Metropolis bay, Clark had tried to freeze as many as he could, but there had been so many that he had eventually had to ask Batman for help containing them.

“It’s retribution for knocking me into the bay earlier,” Clark says.

Bruce smirks and reaches for the body wash. “An eye for an eye I suppose. I’d say it was worth it, considering how funny your face looked as you hit the water.”

Clark splashes some of the falling water at him by flicking his hands. “You’re lucky my cape was on fire at the time, or I would have pulled you in with me.”

“Mhmm. Sure you would have. Even though I had already somersaulted over the lava creature.” Bruce squirts some of the blue body wash into his hands and starts rubbing it into Clark’s shoulders. “What was up with those guys anyway?”

Clark gets some of his own body wash and starts rubbing it onto Bruce’s arms. “I don’t know. They were shouting something about taking over the surface world. They came up from the sewers so my best bet is that they live in the magma.”

Bruce hums and moves his arms lower. He circles his hands in methodological movements, eyes focused on the bubbly lather he creates as he moves them. “Lava creatures from the underground — it sounds like a horror movie from the ’40s.”

Clark laughs and moves his hands along Bruce’s arms to his neck and shoulders. “It does. I bet we could probably find one with that exact plot if we looked hard enough.”

He moves his hands lower to Bruce’s chest and runs them over the hard pecs in cleaning motions. Then, when Bruce isn't expecting it, he softly rolls Bruce’s nipples between his fingers. Bruce gasps and strokes his hands up Clark’s sides before pulling him closer so he can capture him in a long kiss.

Their tongues rove over each other and Bruce takes the distraction to snake one hand down between them to fist Clark’s half-hard cock. Clark’s hips buck forward slightly at the touch, and he moans into Bruce’s mouth. “Impatient, are we?”

Bruce laughs as he starts to pump Clark’s cock to fullness. “I thought we should get this show on the road. If you have any objections —”

Clark cuts him off by twisting a nipple. “Definitely no objections from me.” He keeps one hand playing with the other man’s nipple, and slides the other down to cup one of Bruce’s plump ass cheeks.

“Good.” Bruce kisses him again and presses their bodies closer and wraps both hands around his and Clark’s lengths.

Clark smiles into the kiss and circles a soapy finger around Bruce’s hole. When Bruce gives no objection, he sinks it inside to the last knuckle. Bruce’s breath hitches and his hips buck backwards slightly into Clark’s hand.

“Fuck, Clark, be quick. I’m too strung out from the fight’s adrenaline to last long.”

Clark starts scissoring a second finger inside Bruce and looks around for the soap bottle.

As if hearing his thoughts, Bruce kisses along his jawline to Clark’s ear. “There’s real lube in the third drawer from the left of the medicine cabinet.”

Clark listens to the ambience of the Batcave. There are no heartbeats other than the hundreds of tiny ones from the bats in the belly of the cave. “I’ll be one moment.”

The water that falls from the showerhead barely has time to hit the drain before he’s back with the lube bottle in hand. “How do you want to do this?”

“Face me and hold me up against the wall,” Bruce says.

Clark goes to put lube on his fingers, but Bruce reaches out to grasp his wrist. “I don’t need more prep.” He tugs at his wrist and pulls the taller man to him. “I just need you.”

Clark backs Bruce through the shower spray until the other’s back hits the tiled wall. “Let me indulge you then.” He fists his own cock in his hand and liberally spreads lube over its girth, then he puts his hands under Bruce’s armpits and slides him up the wall so that he can wrap his legs around his waist. They settle like that; Bruce’s upper back pressed against the cold tiles, the only things holding him up are his grip on Clark’s waist and Clark’s hands resting on his ass.

Clark reaches between them to Bruce’s cock and gives it a squeeze. “You ready?”

Bruce’s thighs flex at Clark’s ministrations and he nods.

Clark slowly lines up his length and starts the slick push inside. He feels Bruce’s legs tense tighter and sees the man bite his lip to hold back a groan. “This okay?”

Bruce nods twice in quick succession. “Don’t stop! Keep going, I want it all.”

Clark rolls his hips and the last few inches of cock slide inside. Bruce closes his eyes and his hands scrabble for purchase on Clark’s wet neck. “Clark! Fuck me.”

Clark pulls back his hips and slams back inside in one smooth thrust. He pulls out again, thrusting back in as deeply as he can to the sound of Bruce’s gasps. He keeps a steady rhythm once he hears the small sounds in Bruce’s throat turn to moans. “Bruce,” he breathes. “I love it when you moan like that for me.”

Bruce’s body jerks as a particularly hard thrust slams into his prostate. “Ah, Clark!” His fingers curl, catching on the hairs at the bottom of Clark’s hairline. “Kiss me!”

Clark moves forward, still thrusting, so that Bruce’s body is bent at a more extreme angle. He touches his mouth to Bruce’s and moans as the hole around him clenches. Bruce is warm and tight, and each thrust inside brings him closer to completion.

Bruce bites his lip and pulls back to rest his head against the wall. “Faster,” he pants.

Clark hooks his elbows under the other man’s knees and bends him nearly in half. He pulls out halfway and starts a barrage of quick thrusts between Bruce’s legs. Bruce’s body bucks, but Clark holds him so tightly that the man can do nothing but voice his approval in the form of a string of bitten off gibberish.

Bruce’s eyes are screwed shut and his mouth pants open. He isn’t in the direct line of the water, but some of it bounces off Clark to hit Bruce’s skin and slide down it in tantalizing rivulets. Clark thinks about the way he had moved earlier as they fought the lava monsters. He had been so graceful as he had flipped and kicked through the crowd of adversaries. He had slipped through them like water, twisting and turning to avoid the plumes of fire they had sent his way. Clark had been enraptured at the sight.

“Clark, I think I’m close!” Bruce groans. Clark balances his partner's weight on one hand and brings the other around to stroke at Bruce’s cock. Bruce’s icy blue eyes crack open to lock with his unearthly blue and Clark sees his pupils start to dilate less than a second before Bruce's body tenses and he comes over both their chests.

Clark pistons his hips like a machine, drilling into his lover with an intensity that only increases as his thrusts begin to lose their rhythm. “Bruce. . .” he moans.

Bruce bends to kiss him. “Come for me, farm boy,” he whispers against his lips.

Clark presses into the tight heat one final time and releases his load. He pants through his orgasm and, as soon as the stars leave his eyes, he kisses Bruce with a ferocity that has the other man grunting in surprise.

Clark sets Bruce’s feet back on the floor and pulls back to look at him. Clark’s eyes fall to his lips that are full and red from the kiss. “I love you.”

Bruce smiles at him and plucks a shampoo bottle off the shelf. He leans up and lays a peck on his cheek before running a handful of shampoo through Clark’s curls. “I love you too.”

* * *

It wasn’t hard to find Jason. Even as a child he had been loud, running through the mansion like a herd of elephants. After, as Red Hood, he had been the type of loud that demanded attention; guns blazing and the sound of feet smashing into criminal skulls. As Batman he was no different, striking and hitting people at the exact point he knew would elicit broken shouts of pain.

All Clark needed to do was float into Gotham and listen for the special brand of background noise that signalled Jason had come out to play as Batman.

There.

The railway yard, an abandoned warehouse filled with gunfire and the crunching of bones being snapped.

Clark fell backwards in mid-air and barrelled toward the railyard. The sounds became more pronounced as he moved closer and he slipped through a broken window in the tin roof to find a darkened warehouse filled with terrified mobsters.

Some sprayed bullets blindly into the darkness while others brandished wicked looking blades. All but one wore odd looking metal muzzles wrapped around their faces.

The one that didn’t have a muzzle, the leader Clark presumed, shouted loudly, “Come out from where you’re hiding, Batman! I will show you how nice the Whisper Gang treats their guests.”

Jason’s disembodied voice drifted out across the warehouse. “I suggest you start talking before things get messy.”

The gang leader laughed harshly. “You say you are looking for a man in a dark costume, an enforcer with a mask to hide his face. I will tell you that tomorrow. . . there will be one at the morgue!” The henchmen’s muffled laughs could be heard as they rushed to laugh at their leader’s crude joke.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya.” There was the familiar sound of swishing kevlar and then one of the goons disappeared into the shadows.

Batarangs were flung at three of the more scattered mobsters and embedded themselves into their eyes before the men could retreat. Clark took the opportunity to swoop down and start gathering the guns so that no stray bullets would hurt anyone.

He landed in front of the first man toting a machine gun and revelled slightly in the comical look of his widening eyes as the bullet spray bounced off Clark’s chest.

“Not today,” he said as he reached forward and twisted the muzzle of the gun until it was useless. Another goon rushed toward him, he broke the man’s gun in half before grabbing him by the collar and rendering him and the first man unconscious by clanking their heads together.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw Jason flip over two of the knife wielding goons and break a man’s arm. He seemed fine, so Clark devoted his attention to the rest of the gunmen that still fired their pistols blindly into the fray. He stepped forward, blocking the line of fire to Jason and in a burst of his laser vision he had melted every gun in the room.

The goons dropped the piles of steaming metal with muffled yelps and turned on Superman with their knives drawn. Clark raised an eyebrow in a moment of amused disbelief. “Seriously? After what you just saw me do?”

One of the men snarled from beneath his muzzle and lunged forward, but before he could attempt to hurt Clark with what amounted as a toothpick, he was lurched to the side by an invisible force until his face hit the brick of the wall with a clang. In fact, all of the goons seemed to follow him in synchrony until they were stuck to the wall like flies trapped in paint.

Clark turned to Jason with a questioning look on his face. “What just happened?”

Jason rolled his shoulders back to fix a ruffle in his dark cape. “The Whisper Gang is pretty vicious and tough. . . unless you’re a magnet.”

He pointed to the wall and sure enough, there was a powerful black magnet adorned with a bat symbol stuck to the same wall the goons had been drawn to — or more accurately, Clark mused, their ridiculous metal muzzles.

The gang leader sprung out from behind some crates and made a break for the door. Before Clark could make a move, the man was already being dragged back towards them by Batman’s grappling hook. Jason tutted, “Not tonight, Volk.”

“You’ll pay for this, Batman,” Volk spat.

Jason hauled him up by his lapels and slammed him against a rusty shipping container. Jason was a tall man even out of the Batsuit. In it, he was downright imposing. Volk’s feet swung a foot above the ground as Jason leant forward and growled, “Tell me what you know.”

The criminal gulped. “I. . .I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jason bared his teeth and ominously leaned in closer to the frightened man’s face. “Tell me about the talons, the ones you’ve been helping smuggle into buildings across the city.” The man whimpered and Jason shook him roughly. “I said talk.”

“I do not know! I swear, I know nothing!” he pleaded in a thick Eastern European accent.

Jason was about to shake the man again, but Clark stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. He assessed the man’s vitals. “Batman, he’s telling the truth.”

Jason tightened his fists in reluctance and then let him drop to the ground. He gritted his teeth. “This isn’t over.” He spun the leader around and then handcuffed him to a metal bar on the shipping container.

There were sirens in the distance, no doubt drawn by reports of gunfire. Jason turned to Clark, “I’m leaving. The magnet will hold them until the police get here.” He took out his grapple line and shot it into the ceiling.

Clark floated up after him. “Will you not stay to talk to them?”

Jason hesitated as he climbed out the roof window. He shook his head. “No. Since my. . . takeover they haven’t really approved of my methods. Gordon knows I’m not him.”

Clark thinks of all the broken bones in the warehouse beneath them. “I think I can see why.” That was the wrong thing to say because Jason turned on his heel and grappled over to the next building. “No, wait! Jay, that’s not what I meant!”

Jason was never meant to be Batman, he never wanted to be, no matter how much he had looked up to the mantle as a child, the adult he had become just didn’t fit.

At the beginning of his tenure as the Red Hood, Jason had been a crime lord, he had been wild and free, ruling the proverbial roost. Then, after he had returned to the family, he had become a different type of Red Hood. He stopped killing but his own personal brand of vigilantism had manifested in other ways.

Batman was not free. He was retrained by the morals of the role. He was the protector of the entire city; and as such he had a strict reputation to uphold. Jason had upheld it to an extent. He hadn’t killed, not once in the months he had served the city, and for that Clark was grateful. But as time went on and old tensions creeped in, he had reverted to some of the fiery violence that had spurred him in the past.

Clark flew out after Jason, following as the dark blur scaled buildings and jumped across rooftops. He caught up to him on the wide rooftop of an apartment building and blocked his path. “Jason, please just let me talk for a moment.”

Jason scowled at him but stopped trying to get away. “Fine. Talk.”

Under the murky moonlight he could see the resemblance to Bruce. Jason was as tall as him, with a similar build and face shape. He filled out the suit perfectly to the point where Clark could squint and pretend it was Bruce standing in front of him.

He felt a pang of hurt but pushed past it. “Look, Jay, I wanted to tell you that I’m proud of everything you’ve done. I know how hard the past few months have been for you, they have been for all of us, but I know the effort you’ve put into this. I just wanted to say thank you. For everything.”

Jason’s shoulders softened. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“But I do. You didn’t have to become Batman. But you did. You sacrificed the life you had so that you could help the city, so you could help me. It took courage to do that.”

Jason scuffed the toe of his boot on the concrete like a child. He smiled slightly. “Yeah well, you made a lousy Batman. Even worse than me. No offence.”

Clark laughed. “None taken.” He had a flashback to his time as Batman. The sleepless nights, the constant disasters that had needed his attention. Never being able to use his powers in fear of blowing his cover. He shivered. “Trust me, never again. You are a brave, brave man.”

Jason chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah well, I don’t know about that.”

Even with all the similarities, there were noticeable differences between Bruce and the man standing on the roof. The suit was different, altered to Jason’s taste. Even the bat on his chest had been changed so that it was bulkier and more pointed. The way he moved and talked was different, and no matter how much Clark wanted to fool himself, he knew that it was Jason and Jason alone that he was talking to. He may wear the suit, but he wasn’t Batman. The weight of Gotham had been placed solely on his shoulders, and no matter how much he would protest, it was Clark’s duty to protect and help him.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Clark asked.

Jason rolled his eyes under the white lenses in the cowl. “I don’t know. A day maybe?”

Clark heard the crackle of the comm in Jason’s ear. “Make that two and a half days.”

“Three days?!” Clark exclaimed.

If it was possible, Jason rolled his eyes ever harder. “Two and a half. Terrence, you get out of my ear.” Jason pointed at Clark. “And you get off my back. I’ve been busy.” He swiped a hand over his wrist and an inbuilt display lit up, he jabbed a finger at it and deactivated his comm.

“Who was that?” Clark asked.

“Oh. That was Terrence. He works with Lucious at Wayne Enterprises, he’s been helping us with Batman stuff and he’s been going through the data we’ve collected on the Owl’s case.”

“And he knows. . .about Batman?”

Jason shrugged. “As I said, he works with Lucious. Has for a while apparently. If Fox trusts him enough to work on the Batman tech, then I trust him with this.”

Clark nodded, satisfied. Jason turned to leave but Clark stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going? You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Jason’s stomach chose that moment to growl.

Clark smirked. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Clark sped away and true to his word he returned only minutes later. He held up a takeout bag like the prize kill of a hunt. “I grabbed us something from Carl’s diner.”

Jason eyed the bag suspiciously but accepted the burger wrapped in paper when handed to him. “Does it have —”

“Cheese, no tomatoes, extra onion? Yes.” Clark finished.

They made their way over to the edge of the roof and dangled their legs over it as they sat down. Jason removed his gauntlets and flicked up the bun of the burger to verify it was to his liking. “So, how’s the rugrat?” He took a large bite of the burger and reached into the takeout bag beside them to shove fries into his mouth alongside it.

Clark finished chewing his own bite of food and sighed. “Damian is alright, I guess. As much as he can be, all things considered. He’s still not happy with me keeping him from Gotham — we had a big fight about it a few weeks ago.”

Jason hummed around a mouthful of food and swallowed with an audible gulp. “Thought as much. I’ve caught him sniffing around as Robin a few times.” Jason took a sip from his Sprite. “I had to call Alfie to pick him up.”

Clark spluttered, “What? Alfred never told me.”

Jason shrugged. “He wouldn’t. He’s always had our backs like that.” He smiled slightly at a memory then looked up at Clark. “Don’t say nothin’ to him. As far as you know, the kid hasn’t left Metropolis.”

“It’s not safe for him to be —”

Jason held up a finger. “Look, Babs has been keeping an eye out for him on the cameras. If she finds him, she calls me, and I call Alfie. He’s safe, the system works. You don’t know about it.”

Clark relented. “Fine.”

Jason shovelled more of the fries into his mouth. “He’s a good kid you know. He just wants to help.” He paused, a thoughtful expression passing over his face. “Dick and Bruce, I think they were his two favourite people in the world and now they’re just. . . gone. He’s going through a tough time.”

“I know.” Dick always knew what to say to Damian. Bruce wasn’t as good with his words, but he still knew what exactly to do to make his son feel better. Clark just felt lost without their guidance. “I feel like I’m not enough. Everything I say or do is meant to protect him, but I feel like I’m suffocating him instead.”

“You’re doing all you can. He didn’t even listen to Bruce when he said no. So don’t beat yourself up about it.” He took the last bite of his burger and dusted off his hands. “Thanks for the food by the way — and for the help with the gang,” he added.

“It’s no bother really, on both accounts.” Clark pointed to the bulge still in the takeout bag. “Don’t forget the pie.”

Clark watched Jason’s eyes widen under the white lenses. “You got pie?!” Jason practically dived into the bag in an attempt to get the dessert faster. He took it out of its container and held it up to his nose to smell its sweet aroma. “Apple. My favourite. Carl’s dinner still makes the best pie even after all these years.” He took a bite. “Well, second best. Ma Kent still has everyone beat in my books.”

“In my books too.” Clark ate some of his own pie. The crust had a perfect crisp to it and the apple filling was just the right ratio of sweet to tangy. “So, what was up with those weird muzzles?” Clark asked.

“Ugh, just classic Gotham drama really. They are an offshoot of the Ukrainian mob that calls itself the Whisper Gang. They train overseas then come to the States and have those iron masks fitted around their mouth.”

Clark thought about having a cold sheet of metal wrapped around his mouth for an extended amount of time. He was Kryptonian, so it wouldn’t hurt him, nor do any damage, but it would still be insanely uncomfortable. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

“It’s a symbolic gesture of their loyalty. A sign that they’ll never snitch. It’s removed after a year when they prove themselves.”

Clark shook his head — aghast at the thought of it. “How do they even eat?”

Jason shrugged and took a massive bite of pie. “Your guesh ish as good ash mine,” he mumbled past the food. He swallowed and immediately took another bite. “Not the most talkative bunch, as you can tell, but I thought their leader, Luka Volk, might know a thing or two about how the talons are getting about.”

“You think the gang might be helping them?”

“I’m not sure. The Whisper gang is one of the crime syndicates that controls smuggling in and out of the city. Since we still haven’t caught any of the talons on CCTV, I thought a good place to start looking might be the rail systems that run under some of the buildings the Court of Owls has targeted.”

Clark nodded along. “If they were helping the talons get in and out of buildings then Luka Volt would have known about it.”

Jason’s rolled back one of his shoulders. “Yeah that was the theory. Except, as you witnessed tonight, he didn’t know anything about them.”

“What now?”

Jason’s shoulders sagged and he heaved a sigh. “Honestly, Supes? I’ve no idea. The other mobsters I shook down didn’t know nothin’ either. But they were on edge, some of their guys have been going suddenly missing on the job only to turn up as a corpse a few days later.”

“The Court?”

“Probably. The other gangs would claim the killings otherwise.” Jason finished his pie and scrumpled up his wrapper into the large paper takeout bag. “I know one thing though. If the talons are going after the gangs, then we have an even more serious problem on our hands.”

Clark set down the rest of his apple pie. His mouth was suddenly dry and his appetite had evaporated. “It’s a powerplay. The gangs run the Gotham underworld, if the Court takes them out then there’s no one standing in their way.”

“Yep.” Jason stood, shaking crumbs out of his cape. “I’ve been trying to track them down but they’re like ghosts. Every time I think I’m close to catching one of those assassin bastards, all I find is a cold trail of clues and a dead body.”

He stood on the ledge of the roof and looked out over the dark skyline of the city. The buildings were like behemoths, lit by the flat lights that shone out from their windows as they loomed over the bustling streets. People moved within them like ants, going about their daily lives, unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows.

Jason spoke after a while. “Somewhere out there are Dick and Bruce.” He sounded hurt, a tremor running in his voice that made Clark want to scoop him into a hug. “I thought by now it would be over.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why, maybe because everything has always worked itself out in the past, hell, even _I_ came back from the dead. But they’re still gone and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t find them.”

How was Clark supposed to reassure Jason when he felt the same way? Gotham was a maw, swallowing up any sliver of hope that dared to bloom in his heart. Still, he had to go on, he had to find hope even if it was only a scrap. If he gave up, then the Court would win. Clark didn’t think he could live with himself if he let that happen. “Soon, Jay. Something’s got to happen, something’s got to give, something that will let us get to them.”

Jason nodded. Clark didn’t know if he had been convincing or if Jason was just humouring him. “Maybe.” Jason took his grappling gun out and shot a line into the next building over. “See ya around, Clark.” He stepped off the ledge and fell, the line going taunt to carry his weight across the air.

Clark watched Batman swing around the edge of a building and out of sight, then he took a deep breath and crumpled the paper takeout bag as he stood. “Stay safe, Kid,” he mumbled, not intending for anyone to hear him.

“Hello, Alien.”

Clark startled and whirled around to find none other than Talia Al Ghul languidly stalking toward him from across the roof. “Talia.”

She swayed her hips from side to side as she walked and smiled a vicious smile full of poison. “What a charming conversation you and our dear Jason just had.” She came to a stop a few metres from him and placed her hand on her hip. “It was almost endearing, Batman and Superman swapping stories on a rooftop. . . just like old times.”

Bruce had warned him about the Al Ghuls long ago, before Damian was even in the picture. Clark had met Talia a handful of times over the years and none of the encounters had been pleasant to say the least. She was a viper under the rose, laying in wait and ready to strike at a moment's notice.

“What do you want?” he bit out.

“Where is my son?” she said bluntly.

Clark clenched his fists with such force that the paper bag in his hand turned to dust. “He’s safe. You don’t need to worry about him.”

She scoffed, “Safe? How can you say that when the Court of Owls runs through this city like a river through a valley?”

“He’s not in the city. I hid him, he’ll be safe with me.”

Her eyes darkened and she took a step closer. Clark felt the tell-tale signs of concealed kryptonite nearby. “Safe with you?” Talia said it quietly, her voice smooth and dangerous. “Just like Bruce was safe with you?”

Clark squared his shoulders. “What are you getting at?”

Her lip lifted slightly so she was baring her teeth. The vague notion of an angry lioness flashed through Clark’s mind. “You took my beloved from me and then you let him be stolen away without so much as a fight. The almighty Superman couldn’t protect one man.”

She got closer to him, close enough that he could see the unnatural green glint in her eyes. “How do you expect to protect my son?”

 _She’s right_ , a guilty voice whispered in his head. He hadn’t been able to protect Bruce. Or Dick, or Tim. Time and time again he had failed to keep his family out of harm's way. Why would Damian be any different?

Clark held her fiery gaze with his own alien blue eyes. “I promised Bruce I would protect Damian. I intend to keep that promise.”

Talia snarled and unsheathed a kryptonite laced dagger. “Give him to me. I can take him away from here. Only then will he be truly safe.”

Clark could see the flicker of desperation move across her fine features. There was merit to her words — the further from the Court, the better. But there was no guarantee they wouldn’t come after Damian or that the boy would even stay with his mother.

“How will he be? He won’t go willingly with you Talia, every moment spent with you will be dedicated to his escape.” The dagger made him feel nauseous, but thankfully the kryptonite was synthetic which allowed him to stay on his feet rather than crumple to the ground.

Clark dared take a step closer to her. “Then where will he be? Alone and unsupervised, trying to make his way back to Gotham, ripe pickings for the talons to kill him without us ever knowing.”

They stared at each other, locked in a game of wills until one of them blinked. Talia looked away. “This isn’t over, Superman,” she practically spat his name. “Wherever you have hid my son, I will find him.”

Clark kept his chin up as he stared her down. “Good luck.”

* * *

Clark ambles inside the red brick building. It’s an old empty set of apartment buildings that, judging by the architectural style, were built in the 1930’s. He hears the muffled echoes of voices coming from the stairwell and he follows them to the third floor.

He knocks loudly on the door of one of the abandoned rooms and pokes his head inside. “I hope I'm not disturbing you two.”

Bruce cocks his head. “Clark? I didn’t know you would be back from work so soon.”

“Half day, it’s the Daily Planet’s 80th anniversary. I thought I would surprise you two for lunch.”

Excited feet patter across the wooden floors of the adjacent room and next thing Clark knows, he has an armful of Jason. “Clark! How did you know where to find us?”

Clark hugs the small boy to his chest tightly so that his feet swing in mid-air. “I used my super senses to pinpoint your exact location like a needle in a haystack.”

“Really?”

He sets the boy down and flattens his spiked up hairstyle with his hand. “No. I went to Bruce’s office and his secretary told me where to find him.”

Jason grins up at him with a partially toothless smile. “Notice anything different about me?”

Clark pretends to think. “Hmm, I don’t know. . . Bruce, does he look any different to you?”

Bruce humours him with a good natured smirk. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you.”

“Don’t give it away, B”

“Did you cut your hair?” Clark asks.

“No! Look! My last baby tooth finally fell out.” Jason bares his teeth so that Clark can get a good look.

“I know, Jay. I was only messing.” Clark pats his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re glad it’s finally out, it was holding on for a good while.”

Jason nods. “Yep. I can finally eat apples again.”

Bruce makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “You didn't even eat apples before it became wobbly.”

“Yeah, but I like to have the option.” Jason protests.

Bruce raises an unconvinced eyebrow. “So, if I tell Alfred to buy you apples, you will eat them?”

Jason, who is never one to back down, raises his chin playfully. “Yeah. Of course.”

Bruce grunts. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Clark puts his hands in his pockets and goes to look out of the dirty window. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Bruce reaches for the large file binder wedged under his armpit and opens it. “The Wayne Foundation is planning on opening a new orphanage in the Narrows. Jason thought it might be good for us to help choose the location.”

“We want to make sure we pick the best spot so that the kids have somewhere good to grow up,” Jason says.

Clark looks around the abandoned apartment and takes in the numerous damp and black mold stains. “And this place is one of the location contenders?” He sounds skeptical even to his own ears.

Bruce sighs and scratches behind his ear before he moves to stand beside Clark by the window. “The problem is, most of the buildings on the market that are in the Narrows and big enough for the project are derelict. The Narrows isn't known for its luxury penthouses. This might be the best we can get.”

Jason brushes up against Bruce’s and Clark’s arms as he worms his way between them. “But we can fix this place up, right?”

Bruce shrugs. “Maybe. Any of the locations we’ve looked at so far will need to be heavily renovated before they can be used. This building isn't actually that bad all things considered.”

“So. . . it’s a contender?” Jason asks.

Bruce smiles down at him. “It’s a contender. Close to the top actually, just after that place with the big courtyard.”

Clark tries to peek inside the binder. “Where to next?”

Bruce flicks through it. “Just one more and then we can have lunch. Come on, Alfred is waiting to take us.” He walks out the door and makes his way down the winding staircase followed closely by Jason and Clark.

All three of them pile into the back of a black town car and click their seatbelts into place. Bruce and Clark sit at the window seats and Jason in the middle of them.

“Where to now, sirs?” Alfred asks from the driver’s seat.

“The Willowwood estate please, Alfred,” Bruce requests.

Jason’s stomach rumbles just as the car pulls out onto the road. “Where will we go for lunch?”

Bruce is busy reading through the property manifest so Clark answers instead. “I don’t know. Where would you like to go?”

Jason’s eyes light up at the thought of all the food he would be eating in just over an hour. “Can we go to Carl’s diner?”

Bruce speaks up but doesn't look up from his reading. “No. It’s too far away from the next location. Pick somewhere else.”

Jason groans. “Fine.” He remains silent for a few minutes until he finally picks somewhere else. “We should go to McDonalds!”

Bruce does glance up at the boy now. “Jason, be sensible.”

Clark tries to think of a place that will appease them both. “Why don't we try that new french restaurant that opened up near the docks?”

Bruce flicks over the page. “Yes, we can go there. I’ve been meaning to bring you there anyway.”

“Blurgh.” Jason sticks his tongue out in an imitation of being sick. “ _French_? No way. I’m not eating snails.”

Clark feels as if he was losing the battle. “You don't have to eat the snails, Jay.”

“Still, can’t you two just go on date night and leave me out of it?” Jason complains.

Alfred clears his throat. “Perhaps it would be wise to decide on luncheon arrangements _after_ you conclude your business.”

Clark inwardly sighs with relief. “That’s a good idea.”

“Agreed.”

“Fine.”

The rest of the car ride is spent in relative silence until they pull up a long gravel driveway at the edge of the city.

Jason leans over Bruce and presses his face to the window as they roll up to the large building. “Wow, it’s so big.”

Alfred gets out and dutifully opens the passenger door. “The Willowwood Home for Children used to house just under two-hundred children. In its day, it was considered a premier hospital.”

Clark steps out onto the gravel after Bruce and Jason. The children’s hospital is very big. Windows on windows spread across the East and West wings that face them. A large centre section of the building connects each wing and a tall viewpoint tower sits squarely on the middle roof. It looks impressive, but even from the outside there are signs of decay. Graffiti covers most of the outside walls and many of the windows are broken. Clark glances at the roof and notices some of the tiles are missing, likely it will cave in soon if not fixed. “What happened to it?”

Alfred’s mood seems to shift slightly. “Lack of funding led to the quality of the facility degrading.” He closes the door and looks at Bruce. “I trust you do not require my assistance?”

“No, you can wait in the car.” Bruce winks. “I know you’ve been trying to finish that book for a while.”

Alfred’s face remains stoic except for the slight upward twitch of his eyebrow. “What can I say? Tacky romance novels fascinate me.” With that, he climbs into the driver's seat and shamelessly fishes out a book with a questionably sappy cover picture.

Clark looks at Bruce. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“Best not,” Bruce agrees.

By this point, Jason has run through the front doors and is already in the main hall. “This place is _huge!_ ” He turns to Bruce and Clark as they walk through the doorless entryway. “Do you hear that echo?”

Clark tilts his head and listens as Jason’s words carry throughout the tall room. “I sure do. I think I heard about six or seven echos there. This room must be pretty big to get that many.”

Jason vaults over a weathered chair that is overturned on the floor. “Can I go explore a bit?”

They all move through the reception doors into the main section of the building and Clark looks around. “Yes, but don't go too far ahead of us, alright?”

Jason goes to duck into a side room but Bruce reaches out and catches his elbow. “Jaybird, you need to be careful around this place, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Jason nods, “Got it, Dad.” Bruce lets go of him and he runs ahead and disappears through the dirty halls.

Clark reaches down between them and takes hold of Bruce’s hand. “Think he’ll be okay?”

Bruce spreads his fingers so that his and Clark’s are intertwined. “He knows how to balance himself properly and fall correctly to minimise damage if needed. And I would hope that he has enough common sense by now to not touch any broken glass he sees.”

“I’ll keep an ear out for him just in case.”

Bruce squeezes his hand in gratitude. “Thank you. Even with all of his training he still always manages to find trouble.” Bruce pauses for a moment as a smile crosses his face. “Or fun as he would call it.”

Clark laughs. “He’s a kid that knows what he likes, I can't fault him for that.”

Bruce bumps their shoulders together as they walk. “Except his particular brand of ‘fun’ leads to broken bones.”

“He’s rambunctious,” Clark says.

“I know. I guessed the moment I saw him literally steal the tires off my car.” Bruce shakes his head at the amusing memory. “I’ll give him one thing, he has nerves of steel. There are grown men covered in prison tattoos that wouldn't dare try to jack _that_ car.”

Clark hums. He remembers the night Bruce brought Jason home. The child had been loud and suspicious of their every move. Not phased in the slightest that he was speaking to Batman and Superman. Clark was glad that over two years of earning Jason’s trust hadn’t resulted in him losing any of his enthusiasm for wreaking havoc. “I wouldn't have him any other way.”

Bruce glances inside one of the many rooms that the corridor leads to. “Me either.”

Clark leans in after him, taking in the peeling paint and the damp spots on the ceiling. Two rusty iron bed frames are pushed to the side of the room near the window. “What happened to this place? Alfred seemed odd about it.”

Bruce sighs. “My family has a history with this place. I didn't realise this was the notorious Willowwood until we pulled up in front of it because I'd only ever seen it in photographs.”

Clark pulls Bruce out of the room by their joint hands so that they can continue following Jason. “Notorious? Is this some odd part of Gotham history that I’m unaware of?”

“Yes. Back in the day this was Gotham’s satellite hospital for children suffering with mental illness and neurological disorders. Just like Alfred said, it was considered the premier care facility, partially because it was directly funded by my parents.”

“Your parents?” Clark queries. “But Alfred said it lost funding, surely the Wayne Foundation wouldn't cut money to a place like this after their death?”

“Yes, but it wasn't funded by the Wayne Foundation. In those days my parents had only started the charity, so it didn't have the money to donate to a place like this. Instead, they funded it personally. Alfred tells me they got quite involved in it, my mother apparently made sure to visit the children a few times a week.” A scowl tugs at Bruce’s lips. “After their death, the Wayne Enterprises lawyers had control over a large portion of the fortune until I was eighteen. They decided the hospital wasn't worth the money.”

“So they just revoked the money? What were they thinking?!” Clark says, aghast.

“They were thinking of nothing but greed,” Bruce replies. “The hospital operated for a few years after that, until a freak accident killed all the orderlies.”

“What type of accident?”

“A sinkhole opened up and swallowed the orderlies’ quarters. Afterwards the true horror of what had been going on behind closed doors became apparent. With the money gone, most of the workers had left for other jobs, the ones that stayed neglected the children. The living children were found naked and alone. Rotting in their own filth, and left to starve. ”

Clark’s stomach flips with nausea. “Rao, who could do that to a child in need? It’s sick.”

“It is. Thankfully, with the creation of new heavily funded facilities, and highly trained staff, no child will have to go through that again.”

They enter a gym with a wooden floor painted with fading basketball court lines. Clark stares up at one of the metal basketball hoops and wonders if the children that had once lived here had ever gotten the chance to use them.

Jason appears from an entrance at the other end of the gymnasium and beckons them over. “Guys! Look what I found!”

Both men follow him through an ugly office painted in blue to a dark room near the back of the building.

Bruce shouts in fright as he sees his son stand too close to the edge of the sinkhole. “Fuck! Jason, get away from that!”

“I’m fine!” Jason rebukes as he jumps back to a safe distance. “I was just trying to look in.”

“Language,” Clark says once he’s happy Jason is at a safe distance from the edge of the hole.

Bruce hurries over to Jason and pulls him close to his side. “What if you had fallen in?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Clark can literally fly. He could just catch me.”

“What if he couldn’t do it in time?”

“He’s _Superman!_ How could he not catch me when he’s standing right there.” Jason jabs a thumb toward Clark to highlight his point.

Clark puts a hand on Bruce’s shoulder to hopefully curb his mama bear instincts. “Jay is fine. He just got excited to show us this.”

Bruce drops his shoulders and lets himself relax. “I know. I’m sorry, Jason. I just worry about you getting hurt.”

Jason rolls his eyes again but relents and hooks his arms around Bruce’s bicep in a half hug. “You’re always worrying about me. You don’t need to, I know if you or Pa are around, I'll always be safe.”

Bruce smiles down at him and squeezes him closer. “Good find. We were just talking about how the sinkhole destroyed the orderlies’ quarters.”

Jason’s eyes go wide. “You mean there are dead bodies down there?!”

Clark steps a little further back from the edge of the large hole.

“No, of course not. They removed the bodies a long time ago,” Bruce says. “Fun fact, this is the only sinkhole in Gotham.”

“Cool!” Jason says enthusiastically. “I didn't even know we had any.”

“They can be tricky things, forming from leaky pipes under heavy structures. Some people say this one was created from the sadness of the lost children, and that their spirits still haunt Willowwood’s halls.”

Jason, who had watched Ghostbusters just a few days before, puts a hand on each hip and loudly proclaims, “I ain't afraid of no ghost!”

Clark and Bruce share a knowing look, especially because they had dealt with Jason’s nightmares about him being turned into one of those ‘weird gargoyles’, as Jason called them, from the movie.

Clark smiles and ruffles his hair. “Of course not, Jay.” He looks at Bruce. “I’m guessing this doesn't make the cut for a possible site for your new orphanage?”

“You would be correct. Structural issues aside, I don’t think it is appropriate to open a new home for children in a place with a history like this,” Bruce says.

Jason gives the sinkhole a side-eye. “Yeah, I agree. Plus this whole building smells musty.”

“What do you say about us getting out of here and getting a bite to eat?” Clark says.

Jason transfers his half-hug to Clark’s arm. “Yes! I’m starving!”

“Where will we go?” Clark asks.

“Carl’s diner?” Jason tries.

Bruce shakes his head. “No it’s too far away.” He looks at Jason’s frown and sighs. “I suppose Batburger is on the road home. Would that work?”

Jason grins brightly. “Definitely.”

There was a buzzing by his ear. Clark rolled over in an attempt to bury his face in his pillow to drown out the noise. The noise continued its insistent drone and his eyes snapped open as he realised the buzzing was actually the emergency line of his comm. He twisted in bed and slammed his hand down on the comm piece so he could drag it up into his ear. “Superman here. What’s wrong?”

“Superman! Thank god you’re alright.” Jason’s voice came loud and clear over the speaker. “Is everything okay in Metropolis?”

Clark listened to the apartment. Alfred and Damian’s heartbeats came slow and steady from where they slept in the other rooms, and the city itself sounded normal for 3am. “Yes? Everything is fine. What’s the emergency?”

There was background static before Jason spoke again, almost as if he was running and talking at the same time. “Big problems. I need you in Gotham _now._ Get into the air and I’ll tell you as you fly. Oh, and make sure you wear those new contacts Lucius made for you.”

Clark didn’t wait to reply. Instead, he sped out of bed in a burst of movement and changed into his Superman regalia. He opened the case for the special contact lenses and tried his best not to blink as he slid them onto each eyeball. “Right I’m heading in now.” Clark closed the balcony window behind him, then made sure to re-engage the security system before he jumped into the sky and flew towards the bay. “So, what’s going on?”

There were audible signs of a fight over the comm. “Fuck!” There was a crash of glass and then Jason sighed. “Sorry dealing with a Talon. Had to throw him out a window.”

Clark decided it would be in everyone’s best interest if he flew faster. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, for now. The Court of Owls has made their big move. Talon activity has been on the rise in the last week. I killed one by decapitating it and found a microdrive in its gauntlet.”

There was a pause and the bang of a grappling gun as Jason swung between buildings. “After I cracked it, I found reference to the ‘Night of Owls’ and a hit list of prominent figures in Gotham. Hold on I’ll send it to you now.”

Clark flew over the Metropolis docks and started on his journey across the bay to Gotham. The was a gentle flash of light as the contact lenses activated and a list of names started scrolling in front of his vision. “Rao. Jason, this is almost forty people.”

“Yep. It’s happening right now if you haven’t already guessed. I need you to go to the names in green and stop them from being assassinated. I’m doing the names in purple and Gordon and his men are working on the names in blue.”

Clark looked down the list. A sizable chunk of names were in red. “What about the red ones?”

“The red are confirmed dead,” Jason replied.

Clark looked down the names. Jan Spitz, Betty Park, Miguel Guadalupe; all innocent people that had already lost their lives because the Court deemed them important enough to kill. His stomach roiled with guilt, if Bruce had been there, would he have stopped the talons in time? Would Bruce have been able to stop the night of owls before it had even begun? Clark would never know, because Bruce wasn’t there, he was still in the clutches of the Court all because Clark couldn’t find him.

Jason swore over the comm.

Clarks heart spiked. “What’s wrong?”

“Just found another body at my next check-in. His face is all busted up and covered in blood, but I think it’s that Lincoln March guy that was running for mayor,” Jason said. “Listen Supes, I need to go. I’ll hand you over to Oracle.”

Lincoln’s name turned red on the list just as Clark flew over the Gotham docks. More guilt flooded into Clark. Lincoln March had been one of the mayoral candidates that Bruce had funded. He had talked about improving Gotham by opening and funding community centres. Bruce had talked about him from time to time, so Clark knew the man even if he had only ever met him once or twice at galas.

“Babs, you there?” Clark asked to thin air as he hovered in a cloud.

The earpiece crackled as Barbara joined his comm line. “Affirmative. No time for niceties tonight I’m afraid. I need you over the Upper East Side at 53 Duran Street. Hurry, the security system just got tripped.”

“On it. Do you have any idea how many talons I should expect?” Clark asked.

Barbara hummed. “Honestly? No idea. They seem to be inconsistent between targets. From what i've seen on the security cameras, the city is overrun at the moment.”

Clark shivered, not because he was cold in the freezing Gotham air, but because he remembered the night Bruce had been taken. All those talons standing in the darkness, dozens of pairs of brass rimmed goggles reflecting the kryptonite’s green light as they stared back at him. It had seemed as if there were hundreds there that night, and the thought of an army of assassins running rampant through the city made him uneasy in a way that had every hair on his body standing on end.

“I’m here, Oracle,” he said.

Clark landed outside a pristine looking townhouse. The Upper East Side was full of expensive houses and gentrified coffee shops. Trees lined the sidewalk, and unlike the rest of Gotham, there wasn’t one spot of litter gracing the street.

“Do you see anything?” Barbara asked.

Clark floated up to a small third story window that was ajar. “I think so. I’m going in to find out. Who is the target supposed to be?”

“Sebastian Hady. The Gotham city mayor. No children should be in the house, but he does have a wife.”

Clark nodded and then realised Barbara couldn’t see it. “Okay. I’m going in.”

“Superman?”

Clark managed to squeeze his shoulders through the tiny window and stepped foot into the hallway. “Yeah?”

“Be careful.” She didn’t sound scared per-say, but there was definitely a nervous edge to her voice.

“I will, don’t worry.” He walked on light feet down the hallway, passing photos on the wall as he went. There was one of a young couple on their wedding day, the wife had long locks of dark hair to match the full head of hair on her husband’s head. The next was a balding man holding a large fish. One of the last photos in the corridor was of the same man and woman only in their 50s and standing outside city hall. The woman’s hair was grey but the mayor’s hair seemed to have given up clinging to his head as he was completely bald.

“Any sign of a Talon?”

Clark listened for any sound in the house but all he could hear was the heartbeats of its owners as they slept. “None so far. Maybe they just leave the window open for ventilation?”

Barbara clucked her tongue. “Hmm. Check on them, their bedroom should be the third door on the right.”

“How do you even know that?”

He could hear the smirk in her voice when she said, “I know _everything.”_

Clark wasn’t surprised. Years of living by Bruce’s side had taught him the bats would go to great lengths to obtain information. He came to the bedroom door and slipped inside with a backwards glance to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

Two sleeping figures were in bed and for a moment Clark was at a loss about what to do. He was sure most people didn’t go to bed expecting to wake up to Superman. “So. . . Should I just wake them up?” he whispered.

Clark reached a tentative hand forward and shook the mayor’s shoulder gently. The man woke with a start and pulled the covers up to his neck in fear. “Oh my god!” he shouted.

The woman beside him jumped awake and started screaming when she spotted Clark’s dark silhouette standing over them. She practically fell out of the bed with the bed covers still clutched in her hands.

Clark put his hands up to placate them. “No! It’s all right I’m not here to hurt you.” He looked to the man still laying frozen on the bed. “Sorry Mr Mayor, but I came to check on you and. . . uh. . .” The woman that had fallen out of bed definitely wasn’t the mayor's wife. She was young, maybe in her twenties, and had blonde hair. “. . . Your partner.”

The mayor blinked slowly, completely dumbstruck. “S. . .Superman? What do you mean,” he said.

“I was informed that the Court of Owls planned to kill you tonight.”

“The Court of Owls?!” the woman asked in a frightened voice. She turned to look at her partner. “Seb, please tell me you didn’t get involved with them!”

The mayor got out of bed to comfort her. “I didn’t! Really, I’m telling the truth, baby. I swear I am.”

Barbara spoke in Clark’s ear. “I’ve rerouted a police cruiser to pick them up and take them somewhere safe for the night. Should be there in a few minutes.”

Clark cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think it would be best if you two got some clothes on and left the building for a few days. The police are coming to pick you up now.”

The mayor made a face. “I’m not sure if I should do that. The voters might think it’s too cowardly to flee my home at a time like this.”

The mayor’s mistress gripped onto the front of his pyjamas. “Seb, if you’ve gotten involved with them you know what they’ll do! We’ve all heard the famous rhyme.”

The mayor rolled his eyes. “Not this blasted rhyme again. I used to sing that damn thing as a kid and now it’s all you see in the papers these days. I’m sick of it.”

Clark raised his eyebrow in confusion. “Rhyme?”

The woman tightened the grip on the mayor and whispered as if scared to speak too loud. “Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time. Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed. Speak not a whispered word about them —”

A raspy voice joined in from the shadows of the corridor. “Or they'll send the Talon for your head.”

A glint of silver flew through the air. Clark watched the throwing knife in slow motion for a moment before catching it between his fingers. There was a second of still silence before all hell broke loose. A talon burst through the darkened doorway, knives clenched in its fists as it lunges toward the mayor.

“Sebastian Hady, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die!” it shouted as it leaped across the room.

Clark dived, catching the talon around the chest and bringing them both crashing to the ground. The woman started screaming again as they grappled on the floor. The talon was strong, not near as strong as Clark, but enough to allow it to gain freedom from Clark’s hold as it combined its strength with it’s martial arts training. It vaulted over the bed and sank a knife deep into the mayor's shoulder just as Clark wrapped a hand around one of the knife belts around its torso and tossed it through the far wall.

Sirens could be heard close by. He looked at the two civilians and poured as much urgency as he could muster into his voice. “Run. Now!”

As if shaken from their terrified stance, both civilians sprinted out of the room. The talon tugged itself from the rubble of the wall. “Ah, I see I am playing with the famed Kryptonian,” it hissed. “They’ve told me a lot about you.”

Clark clenched his fists. “Who did?”

“I think you know.” It grabbed its limp arm and shoved its dislocated shoulder back into place.

“Where are they!?” he demanded.

The talon didn’t acknowledge him, instead it focused on resetting its broken fingers. “All the tales our beloved Richard and Bruce have told us about you.” It stepped further out of the rubble into the room. “All your strengths. . . and all your _weaknesses!”_ It sprang toward him and threw a small metal disc. The disc landed on the house of El crest and activated.

Suddenly Clark was on his knees, completely overcome by the high frequency noise the device was emitting. The noise was shrill, like a drill eating away at his senses, and as each excruciating second passed, he felt more and more like his head would explode. He finally pulled his scattered thoughts together long enough to rip the device off his suit and crush it in his fist.

“ —erman! Superman! Clark! What’s happening? Are you okay?” Clark could barely hear Barbara’s frantic voice over the ringing in his ears.

“Yeah.” He shook his head and rose to his feet. “I’m fine. They got me with some sort of sonic wave device.”

There was a high-pitched scream from downstairs and a clatter as something fell over. Clark ran forward, arriving on the ground floor of the house in a matter of seconds. The woman lay on the ground, a knife was embedded into her thigh and she clutched at it as she sobbed. The mayor stood shaking in the corner, his head was bloodied, and his pyjama top was torn to show claw marks that gouged from his shoulder right down into the centre of his chest. Between them lay the talon, it was still and lifeless — black blood oozing out of its head from where the Mayor had driven the pointy end of an iron fire poker.

The mayor looked up with wide eyes as Clark approached. “I. . . I killed it. I fucking killed it.”

Clark stepped over the body to kneel beside the shivering woman. He glanced at her wound. “Ma’am, don’t worry it didn’t hit anything important. You’ll be right as rain tomorrow.” He gathered her into his arms and motioned with his head for the mayor to follow. “Oracle, the talon has been dealt with. The mayor is alive but his. . . er. . . girlfriend needs medical assistance.”

“I’ll get her an ambulance. Leave them with the police for now,” Barbara replied.

Clark stepped down out of the building just as the police turned the corner. He looked down at the bloodied woman in his arms. “Right, I’m going to hand you over to the police now, they will keep you safe until the ambulance gets here.”

The woman hiccupped on a sob and attempted to wipe some of her tears away. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Superman. If you hadn't been there, that _thing_ would have killed us in our sleep.”

The police car pulled up and Clark settled the injured woman in the backseat. “Honestly, it was nothing, ma’am. The real hero here is Mr Hady, he was the one that killed the talon.”

Clark turned to usher the mayor into the car, but the man looked dazed as he stared at the roof of the townhouse. Clark’s eyes trailed upwards to find the talon standing on the cusp of the roof. Black blood still covered half of its face, but it held the fire poker loftily in one hand as if it was unfazed it had been murdered with the weapon moments before.

“Oracle, it’s alive! It must have regenerated somehow!” Clark said.

The talon let the metal poker drop and it banged loudly on the footpath in front of Clark’s feet. Then, it turned, ran, and jumped onto the next set of roofs.

Clark turned to the two policemen that had their guns drawn. He pointed at the mayor and his mistress. “Protect them. I’m going after the talon.” Clark rose into the air, scanning the rooftops as he tried to find the moving figure.

“Wait!” There was a flurry of clacking keyboard keys as Barbara raced to confirm her new information. “Clark don’t follow it. I repeat _don’t_ follow it. You need to go back to Metropolis immediately,” she said with urgency.

A pit of dread formed in Clark’s stomach. “Why? What’s happening?”

Barbara sounded panicked as she spoke. “I’m getting reports that a few minutes ago a large pack of talons peeled off and headed towards Metropolis.”

Clark sucked in a breath. “Damian and Alfred,” he whispered.

“Go to them. I’ll link my comm to Jason and the police and we will finish the list,” Barbara said frantically.

Clark zoomed back toward the penthouse, breaking the sound barrier as he shot across the bay. He was close, nearly back home, but if he focused he could already hear the tell-tale signs of a violent fight.

He didn’t have time to spare, so he barrelled through the large windows and slammed into an attacking talon. Clark whirled around as two talons jumped on his back, he flew into the air and crashed down backwards onto the concrete floor. Thank Rao that Bruce had been so meticulous when renovating the penthouse. It had bulletproof glass, concrete floors, walls two metres thick, and a state of the art security system that he had personally designed.

Which meant one thing; Bruce was here, and he had deactivated it himself.

“Damian!” Clark bellowed as he looked through the room. The boy was nowhere in sight, but Clark didn’t have time to continue searching as more talons rushed him. Now that he knew they were unkillable he could play rough.

Clark grabbed the closest and snapped its axe wielding arm in half, before using the talon like a battering ram to mow down another three assassins that were running toward him. He beat his way through the crowd, intending to fight his way to Damian and Alfred, but they just kept coming like an unstoppable sea of knives.

“Right that’s it. I’ve had enough.” Clark drew in a breath of air and blew it out again in an icy burst of freeze breath. All at once the writhing mass of talons stilled as they froze solid and Clark set out a slight sigh of relief. He turned to run to the next room when a strange groaning sound met his ears.

Tiny cracks started forming on the statue-like talons, faster and faster until they looked like very life-like mosaics. Then, all at once, they cracked — pieces of frozen flesh falling to the ground in heaps.

“Oh god. What have I done,” Clark breathed. He hadn’t meant to kill them, hadn’t even known they could be killed like this, but as he looked down at the frozen pieces of talon, he knew they wouldn’t be coming back.

A horrible thought entered Clark’s head. What if one of them had been Dick? What if some of the pieces he was standing in were Bruce? He shook his head. He couldn’t get distracted by these types of thoughts, right now Damian and Alfred needed him.

Clark burst through the doors to the main living area. Even more talons were crammed in there, standing between Clark and Damian and Alfred who stood wielding a katana and a shotgun respectively at the other side of the spacious room.

“Damian!” Clark shouted over the roar of gunshots. “I’m coming!”

Clark leaped into the fray, catching glimpses of Damian’s katana slicing through flesh as he fought through the press of bodies. He punched a talon in the face and broke its decorative owl beak as its head ricocheted backwards. He pivoted, ready for the next attack, but the main press of talons seemed to be backing away from him. “What?!” he shouted. “You scared?”

“No, my dearest. I simply told them you were ours.”

A man in sleek black armour with golden accents stepped out of the throng. He was followed closely by the silver accented talon that Clark recognised as Dick. Which could only mean that it was Bruce standing in front of him. Bruce with his beautiful face and beautiful smile covered by the grotesque imagery of an owl wrought in twisting lines of golden metal.

Clark’s head spun, so many months had passed and yet Bruce was only metres away. He was just like Clark remembered; the talon armour was moulded to his body perfectly, highlighting the thick muscles as they rippled under the thinner parts in the armour.

“Bruce,” he breathed softly.

Bruce spread his arms. “The one and only.”

Clark must have looked crazed with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t get his mouth to cooperate with the words his mind was supplying him with. “I. . . You. You’re here. You’re actually here.”

Dick stepped forward on one foot and rested his hands and chin on Bruce’s wide shoulder. “Aw, what’s wrong, Big Blue? No big words of reunion for me?”

Before Clark could reply, Dick had already surged forward with a wicked looking curved sword in his hands. Clark just had enough time to see the thin line of green kryptonite dust on the edge of the blade as it was swung toward him. He dodged sideways and then forward as Bruce brought his own kryptonite tipped sword into the mix.

“Bruce! Dick! What are you doing!?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dick chuckled. “We are trying to kill you, silly!”

The three of them spun in a wild dance of metal and armour, each man trying his best to dodge the others hits. Bruce jabbed forward in a burst of speed and managed to draw a long line of blood across Clark’s chest. “I hear you’ve been quite the thorn in the Court of Owls side while I was. . . indisposed,” Bruce said.

His voice was smooth and silky like caramel, just like Clark remembered. It made his chest hurt to remember that this wasn’t the real Bruce talking. Clearly whatever conditioning the Court had subjected him to had managed to brainwash him.

Bruce continued, “But I suppose after I kill you tonight, we won’t have to worry about you meddling in our affairs any longer.”

Clark managed to narrowly miss the sharp blade that was aimed at his throat. “I wouldn’t count on it, Bruce.” He sidestepped another deadly blow and managed to send a kick into Bruce’s chest which had him sailing through the air to the other side of the room. “I’ve been looking for you for so long. Do you really think I’m going to give up on you now?”

Dick slashed at his arm, managing to nick it with the blade while Clark was mostly distracted with Bruce. Clark immediately felt his arm weaken from the small amount of Kryptonite. Dick jumped back as Clark took a swing at him.

“Ah Clark, Ever the noble hero.” Dick flourished his sword. “Never giving up. Never knowing when the game is up,” He said harshly.

For a split-second Dick’s footing became unsteady under the shards of a broken vase. Clark took his chance immediately, he kicked Dick’s right foot out from under him and caught his wrist roughly so that the man dropped his sword. Then he kicked it away under a sofa.

His momentary success was short lived however, because he could hear Dick’s laughter coming from under his silver talon mask. “Oh Superman, don’t you know?” Dick reached behind him and brought out very sharp looking daggers lined with green. “Always have a plan B.”

Bruce roughly pushed his way through the crowd of talons from where Clark had thrown him. “You think you can stop us?” He swung his blade at Clark and it embedded itself into the wall exactly where his target’s face had been seconds before.

Clark jumped backwards, stepping on, and breaking, the low coffee table in his haste to not get stabbed by the dual knives Dick was wielding. “No! I don't want to fight you at all! I want to help you. Please. . .” He looked at Bruce and then Dick with as much sincerity as he could muster. “. . . Let me help you. Whatever they’ve done to you can be undone.”

Both men stopped their assault momentarily and glanced at each other. Seconds later they erupted into laughter. Clark flinched at the sound. It didn’t sound like Bruce or Dick. The laughs were loud and harsh, and they grated on Clark’s ears after hearing their real laughs for so many years.

“You really are as much a fool as I remember,” Bruce said.

Clark reeled backwards, visibly stung by the words. _This is not Bruce. This is not the real Bruce. This is not Bruce. This is not the real —_ the mantra continued in Clarks head. He needed to repeat it, he needed to believe the words he was saying in his mind because if he didn’t, then the thing in front of him would seem more real.

Bruce resettled into an offensive strike pose and resumed his onslaught with the sword. “Let me tell you how tonight is going to go. We are going to take Damian, and then we are going to kill you.”

He lunged forward with the sword and Clark blocked it by hefting a wooden side table between them. The blade of the knife became lodged in the wood and Clark used the distraction to push Bruce away.

“No. I won’t let you take Damian,” he said.

Dick threw one of his knives and it buried itself in Clark’s shoulder. He cried out in pain and ripped the blade from his flesh, but his arm still throbbed from the effects of the kryptonite.

Dick and Bruce circled him like vultures. “You really think you can stop us from taking him? Look around you, you’re outnumbered,” Dick boasted.

Clark looked at where Damian and Alfred still fought the hoard of talons. They’d moved into the kitchen to create a bottleneck for the assassins, but eventually the sheer number of opponents would overpower them.

“You think he’ll go with you willingly? You think Damian will just join your little group of owls without a fight?” Clark drew himself up to his full height and looked directly into the eye lenses on Bruce’s mask. “You won’t kill me tonight. I’ll always be out there, and I can guarantee that if you take Damian, I won’t rest until I have him back.”

Bruce snorted. “That’s exactly what you told me when Dick went missing, remember? In fact, I could guess that you told dear old Alfred and little Damian the same thing when I was taken.” Bruce stalked forward like a lion. “You never did find us, and honestly? I am glad. Here we are, months later. Stronger. Faster. _Better_ than we ever were before. All thanks to the gift of life the Court of Owls has given us.”

It felt like a slap to the face to hear Bruce talk like that. Though there was a hint of truth to it all wasn’t there? Under the lies and propaganda he spouted about the Court, was the glaring guilt that Clark _had_ promised to find them both. Not only a promise to other people, but to himself, and yet he had failed. He had taken too long and the people he loved had suffered for his failure.

“I meant what I said. I don’t know what exactly they did to you.” He looked at his husband and his son, they were covered in their armour and their faceless masks, but Clark still knew it was them underneath it all. Underneath the armour, underneath the conditioning — their true selves were in there, and Clark _would_ get them back. Clark's voice softened. “I won't rest for you two either. Every day, every hour, will be spent ensuring I get you back from the Court.”

The group of talons, that weren’t attempting to break into the kitchen, tittered with amusement. Dick stopped circling and flipped his remaining knife in his hand. “We will see about that,” he said.

Clark saw the bunching of muscle that indicated he would strike out, but suddenly there was a great crash of noise as the wall of windows in the main sitting area blew inward. People dressed in all black poured into the penthouse as they shimmied down long ropes connected to two helicopters that hovered outside.

The moment seemed to drag on forever, Clark initially felt a dull sense of hopelessness as he assumed more talons had arrived, but then the moment abruptly ended as the figures in black immediately started fighting the talons.

“The League of Assassins,” Bruce growled.

Two ninja leapt at Dick and they disappeared into the battle. All around them was filled with noise and blood. Assassin against assassin. Owl against shadow. They all fought with an expertise that only came from years of training, and each person in the room wielded their weapon expertly while winding in and out of their enemy’s reach.

“Beloved.”

Both Bruce and Clark whirled around to find Talia standing in the window frame. She looked from the sluggishly bleeding wound on Clark’s shoulder to the masked form of Bruce. Her eyes hardened. “What have they done to you, Bruce?” she asked as she unsheathed a long sword and stalked forward. Talia stopped when she had put herself between Clark’s injured form and Bruce.

Bruce widened his stance and brandished his blade. “Only what I should have done years ago. The Court has set me free, they have given me a gift that I intend to share with our son.”

Talia bared her teeth. “I will spare your life tonight only because I know you have been influenced by forces beyond your control. However, I will not allow you to harm Damian.” She glanced behind her at Clark. “Get my son. Protect him with your life.”

Clark nodded just as Bruce sprang forward. He watched their swords clash together in a struggle for power.

“Go! Now!” Talia shouted to him.

Clark took his cue and started running through the crowd. The jumble of fighting people was so thick that Clark could no longer see Damian. Instead, he headed blindly for the kitchen, narrowly dodging wayward knives and stumbling over fallen bodies as he went. He pushed aside a talon and skidded into the kitchen in time to see Damian behead a talon that seemed intent on stabbing him with a sai.

“Damian!” A talon lunged at Clark but it was immediately intercepted by a knife to the head from one of the League of Assassin members.

Damian turned to him. He looked exhausted, sweat dampened his hair and black blood smeared across his skin. “Clark? Where were you?” he panted.

Clark stepped forward and knocked a talon away before it could get to the boy. “Gotham. I’m sorry. I should have been here.”

“They came so quickly and you weren’t here. . . I. . .” Damian trailed off. He suddenly looked so small gripping the sword in his hands. There were unshed tears in his eyes as his eyebrows drew down in anger. “You should have been here.”

“I know.” Clark looked around at the beheaded bodies in the kitchen. “Where’s Alfred?”

Damian looked around with wide eyes, suddenly aware that his elderly companion was no longer in the room. “Alfred!” he shouted. He looked at Clark with panic in his eyes. “We need to find him!”

Clark looked out into the main area of the apartment where the fight still raged on. “Okay. But stay behind me.”

He edged out of the room. There were bodies everywhere, both human and talon. Some of the talon bodies twitched and got back up — their regenerative powers allowing them to continue to fight. The remaining ninja seemed to have gotten the message though, because they had begun to decapitate the talons they killed. Still, there must have been at least thirty talons left fighting, including Dick and Bruce that had both taken to fighting Talia. Clark knew he could end the fight in seconds. One freeze breath would kill the talons immediately, except it would come with the unavoidable death of Bruce and Dick too.

“Mother is here?” Damian asked over the clash of steel.

“Yeah. She brought the backup,” Clark said.

Damian peaked out from behind Clarks protective bulk and paled as he saw who his mother was fighting. “They are here.” His jaw tightened. “We should incapacitate them while we have the chance.”

Clark put his hand firmly on Damian’s chest to hold him back. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

Damian scowled. “Everything is too dangerous to you.” Damian slipped from Clark’s grip and disappeared into the crowd.

“No! Damian get back here!” Clark heard more glass breaking from the other rooms as a third helicopter unloaded more assassins. He heard a roar of pain over the sound of the fight and looked over in time to see Talia bury her sword into Dick’s heart. The silver talon went limp and crashed to the ground as Talia flicked the black blood off her blade.

Clark was on the other side of the room but he could hear Bruce’s growl. “You will pay for this insult, Talia.”

Talia smirked. “Why so offended? It’s not like I killed him.” She pointed the tip of her sword at a twitching talon corpse. “He will just reanimate like the rest of these wretched things.”

The third wave of ninja poured into the room and Bruce tensed his shoulders. “Until next time.” He stepped away from Talia and shouted, “Talons! Retreat!”

One by one the talons stopped fighting and jumped out of the windows. Bruce gathered Dick’s lifeless body into his arms and looked directly at Clark. “The boy was promised to the Court. If they can’t have him, they will simply kill him.” They stared at each other for a long moment before Bruce turned and stepped off the window ledge to fall into the darkness.

With the talons gone there was an odd stillness as Clark and the remaining league members stood in the carnage of the apartment.

“No!” Damian’s sharp cry sounded deafeningly loud over the silence.

Talia and Clark looked at each other in alarm and simultaneously ran toward one of the guest bedrooms. It was completely wrecked. The bed was torn to shreds and blood splattered the walls. There were bodies littering the floor and Damian cradled one in his arms.

“Nonononono! Not him. Not him,” he sobbed.

Clark moved closer and gasped when he saw Alfred on the ground. The man still clutched his shotgun, but his eyes were closed and his skin pale with death. Blood covered his clothes and seeped into Damian’s pyjamas as he held him.

Clark shook his head in sorrow. Alfred had become a second father to him over the years. He had looked after them all and given wise advice even at the most unexpected times. Now he was gone forever. Clark knelt beside Damian and gathered him into a hug. The boy clutched at him desperately as he cried.

“Why him? Why did it have to be him?” Damian hiccupped over his sobs.

Those were questions of grief. Questions that Clark could never answer. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the boy tighter. “I know. It’s not fair,” he said.

Talia looked at Clark and spoke, “He is not safe here.” She knelt to eye level and caught her son’s eye. “Come with me, tafali. The league will keep you safe.”

Damian leant back and gave Clark a serious look. “They won’t stop will they? They won’t stop hurting this family until they have me.”

Clark didn’t have the nerve to lie. He nodded.

“Give him to me and I will swear on my father’s life that no harm will come to him,” Talia said to Clark.

Clark rested his chin in Damian’s soft hair and closed his eyes. Guilt. Shame. What else should he be feeling? He had sworn to protect the family, yet the strong scent of Alfred’s blood was a testament to how much he had failed. If the talons had found them here in this safehouse, then they would find Damian no matter how well Clark could hide him. The only thing that could stop them was sheer manpower and Clark just didn’t have that at his disposal. The League of Assassins did.

He opened his eyes and looked deep into Talia’s green gaze. “Protect him. Promise me you will.”

She nodded solemnly. “On my own life I will.”

Clark gave Damian a squeeze before letting go. “Be safe.”

Damian wiped the tears from his eyes and stood up straight. “You too.”

Talia ushered him out of the room, Damian hesitated in the doorway and gave one last glance back to Clark. He nodded before stepping out and leaving Clark kneeling and alone in a blood drenched room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Major Character Death**
> 
> I feel I should mention that the Justice League does not exist in this au. In a previous draft I mentioned them throughout the fic however, due to time constraints I wasn't able to write the scenes that I would have wanted to add to the fic. That being said, while the team doesn't exist, the people still do (so you might catch a reference to Diana or the Green Lanterns here and there). So yeah, if you are wondering why the team is suspiciously absent, that's why! 
> 
> The great art of Clark and Damian is by [BlueNeon987!](https://twitter.com/blueneon987/status/1327551052908998656?s=21)
> 
> Come see me on my Tumblr [aboutbatman!](https://aboutbatman.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a slight **trigger warning** for this chapter (nothing actually happens, however there are implications). Please see the end notes for more information (spoiler warning).

_Clark wakes at the closing of the bedroom door. Moments later, footfalls make their way to the other side of the bed and he feels Bruce slide under the covers. Clark opens his eyes. The sun is too bright, almost all-encompassing as it streams through the tall bay windows, blinding him until he can’t bear to have his eyes open. He closes them and the world shifts._

_When he opens them again it’s dark. He’s still in bed with Bruce, but there is an eerie glow from the greenish moonlight that shines through the windows. He runs a hand through the man’s raven locks of hair and bleary eyes blink open as Bruce turns to him._

_“Rough night?”_

_The man nods and closes his eyes again._

_Clark feels a pit of longing and despair low in his stomach, “Stay awake with me,” he says desperately and the wind howls along with him, whipping at the sheer curtains as they bellow at the windows._

_The moonbeams highlight Bruce’s sunken cheekbones and the deep black veins that run across his face. Bright amber eyes open to stare accusingly up at Clark._

_Bruce’s face twists, his lips part slightly, and he screams and he screams and he screams —_

Clark woke with a start. He clutched at the empty bedsheets to his right, his tired mind not comprehending why the bed was cold and missing another person. There was an electronic chime from somewhere in the room and Clark rolled over to find Kelex floating by his bedside.

Clark clenched his fists in the cold bedsheets and swallowed the lonely hurt that threatened to well up inside him. “What is it, Kelex?”

Small lights lit up along the robot’s body as it spoke, “You have a visitor waiting for you at the front door, Kal-El.”

Clark threw the lavish sheets back and stepped out of bed, suddenly awake. “A visitor? What do you mean?” He hadn’t had a visitor in a while, occasionally Diana stopped by, but for most people, the Fortress of Solitude was not an easy place to reach.

“A visitor has requested your presence, Kal-El.” A large section of the white crystal wall dissolved into a screen and displayed a hooded man standing outside the great door of the fortress.

Clark stretched and sped into his super-suit. The man wore a long, black, hooded cloak that he clutched around himself as the arctic wind howled. “Who is he?”

“Unidentified male. Biometric scans indicate approximately twenty-two years of age. Do you wish me to ask his name?” Kelex chirped.

“Yes.” Clark moved closer to the screen, intending to try and get a better look. He saw the moment Kelex’s voice echoed through the speakers at the front door because the man startled and looked up, revealing the face of Damian Wayne.

“Disregard that, Kelex. Open the doors.”

“Affirmative.”

Clark strode out of the room, electing to walk instead of using his super speed. He hadn’t seen Damian in years. Any communication Clark had tried to establish had been swiftly rejected by the League of Assassins. Instead, after the boy had gone with his mother, he had written sparse update letters to Clark that had become rarer and rarer as the years had trickled by.

Clark still felt a stab of guilt that he had failed to protect Damian. He broke his promise to Bruce, the promise to protect the family at all costs. Clark had long thought on his decision to send Damian away, he had wanted to keep him close, to keep him as safe as possible, but even being near Clark had been a death sentence.

It had been too dangerous — the Court flexing their wings and threatening to pull the carpet out from under them, so when Talia had offered to take him away from the clutches of the Court, Clark had no other choice than to say yes.

He wondered why the boy had picked this moment to finally reach out. Had he decided to finally confront Clark for his inability to stop the Owls? Or was this simply a check-up on an old ally?

“Superman.”

The voice was deep, deeper than Clark had expected, and for a moment the guilt intensified at how apparent it was that he had missed the formative years of his son. The cloaked figure stepped further into the entrance hall and let down his hood. He stared for a moment, eyes transfixed on the boy he once knew, except he could barely be called a boy anymore. He was still youthful, but his baby fat that Clark had adored so much was completely gone, instead replaced by sharp cheekbones and bright green eyes.

Clark swallowed thickly. “Damian.”

He looked so much like Bruce that it hurt. Bruce’s mouth, Bruce’s chin, even his hair reminded Clark of his father. Damian stared back at him. He looked apprehensive as he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again on second thought. He steeled himself, drew his wide shoulders back and jerked his chin high so that he could hold Clark’s gaze. “I. . . I’ve come back. . . for good. I just thought that —”

Clark stepped forward and enveloped Damian in a hug. It was easy to assume he would be hugging the same boy from years ago. That was why it was such a shock when Clark was confronted with how much Damian had grown. He was tall, taller than Bruce had been, and Clark could feel the firmness of muscle under his hands and arms as he hugged the man close. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Damian stood frozen for a moment before he reciprocated the hug by wrapping his long arms around Clark and grasping at him as if his life depended on it. No wonder, Clark mused, he had been with the assassins for the better part of a decade— they weren’t exactly known to be affectionate.

Clark squeezed him tighter, happy to let Damian dictate how long the embrace would last. After a few minutes, the man stepped back and straightened his clothes. “I am also glad I have returned. It has been hard hearing news of Gotham and being unable to help,” Damian said.

Clark led the other deeper into the fortress. “Why now?” he asked.

Damian shrugged. “I have completed my training. The League of Assassins no longer offers me anything of value.” The way he said it was tense, revealing a larger and deeper story, but Clark elected not to press any further.

“And Gotham does?”

Damian stopped walking and turned to face him. There was a light in his eye, a spark when he said, "I have to go back."

The inevitable pull of Gotham City. Her dark stone towers and twisting shadows sang a dangerous siren song; one that called out to her citizens, pulling them back to her no matter how far they ran.

He regarded Damian for a moment. The determination in his eyes was so real, so _raw_ — Clark wondered if that was what Bruce had been like when he had returned from the League.

Clark nodded. “Yes. I think you do.”

They entered a large domed room near the top of the fortress. Like the rest of the building, it was made of crystal, however one side of the curved wall was made of completely translucent crystal that allowed onlookers to view the wide expanse of the arctic tundra that stretched out in front of the fortress.

Kelex appeared between them. “Do you require beverages?” he said in his little robotic voice.

“Tea please,” Damian replied.

Clark sat down in one of the ornate crystal chairs that seemed to sprout from the floor. “Make that two teas, Kelex.”

“Affirmative.” Kelex bobbed away as he hovered out of the room.

Damian took a seat. The silence stretched between them.

“So. . .” Clark started awkwardly. There was so much to talk about, so much to catch up on, yet it was hard to know where to begin.

“So this is where you have been living.” Damian finished. Clark must have given him a confused look because he said, “I checked the manor but it was empty. As were the various safehouses I knew Bruce had given you.”

“Oh, yeah. I moved out hereafter. . .” The name Alfred went unsaid _._ “. . .You were nearly killed by the Court of Owls,” Clark finished lamely.

Damian stared at him expectantly. But what was Clark supposed to say? Was he supposed to explain the fear that the Court would kill everyone he had ever come into contact with? His neighbours, his colleges, even the grocery store clerks he talked to every few nights were in potential danger by just knowing him. Was he supposed to explain the mounting paranoia that had plagued his dreams and his waking hours, the deep dark fear that the Court was hiding in every shadow and around every corner?

“Things became too dangerous in Metropolis, just like they had in Gotham. I didn’t want people to die just because they knew me, so I moved out here.” He gestured out at the snowy view.

“I noticed your Superman activity became slightly reduced.”

Clark smiled. “You keeping tabs on me, kid?”

“Always.” The way he said it was so serious, so alike in the way Bruce would admit to being watchful of his family, that it hurt Clark to think about.

Things had been rough after he had sent Damian away. Looking after the boy in the months after the disappearances had almost sheltered him from the full extent of what had happened. He had been strong only to keep Damian from falling apart, but once Clark had been alone, the façade had crumbled. Tim was dead. Alfred was dead. Dick and Bruce were out of his reach — somewhere so well hidden that all the superpowers in the world couldn’t find them.

“I needed time to myself. I quit my job and kept myself as far from the rest of the world as possible. The world will always need Superman though, so in emergencies I helped as much as I could.”

Damian nodded his head in understanding as Kelex re-entered the room with a silver platter held in the clasps of his robotic arms.

“Tea is served,” he announced as he set the tray on the table between them.

Clark reached forward and poured two cups from the teapot. “Thank you. That will be all.”

Kelex beeped and then happily zoomed back out of the room.

The next few seconds were filled with the clanking of teaspoons as Clark stirred sugar and milk into his drink. When he was finished, both men settled back into their respective seats in a renewed silence.

Damian broke it, “What became of. . . of Alfred.”

Ah. Talia had insisted she take Damian before the Court had a chance to strike again, which of course meant he had missed the funeral.

“He’s buried in the Wayne cemetery on the manor grounds. I go up every few weeks to keep the weeds off the grave. Tim’s too.”

Damian seemed to relax slightly. The fingers curled around his teacup relaxed slightly and he took a sip. “That is good to hear. I. . . I had worried.” He quieted for a moment, thinking. “It was one of my greatest regrets. Abandoning him like that.”

“Damian, there was nothing to be done. If you had stayed, they would have stopped at nothing to get their hands on you.”

“Yes. I know. It still does not make me feel less guilty.”

Clark frowned. Had Damian been holding onto all this guilt for years? Thinking that it was somehow shameful that he had left Gotham? “Hey, there’s no need to feel guilty. Tim and Alfred would be proud of you. _I’m_ proud of you. Look at you, you’ve grown up into a fine young man.”

Damian shook his head. “I ran, Clark. Like some scared child.”

Clark put his hand reassuringly on his shoulder. “You were a child. All that matters is that you’ve come back.”

“Perhaps.” Damian set his teacup on the table and walked over to stare out of the wide window. “How is Todd — Jason?”

Clark set his cup down and leant forward in his seat so that his elbows were on his knees. “As well as someone can be when they are in a one-man crusade against Gotham. In the beginning, I helped as much as I could, but after the talon sightings became more sparse he tended to refuse my help.” Clark shrugged. “You know how he is.”

Damian smirked. “I do. I also know how overbearing you can be when you are overprotective of us.”

He chuckled a little. Okay. . . maybe he had smothered Jason slightly in the beginning, but could Clark be blamed for that after everything had happened? “I guess he did need some space. He still let me help every so often —still does actually. He also had Lucius Fox and one of Lucius’s confidants to help him with all the problems that came with the cowl.”

“Confidants?” Damian asked.

“A man named Terrence, I believe. I haven’t ever met him, but Jason and Lucius trust him. He helps with ops and gets information to Batman. I’m sure you’ll meet him when you return.”

Damian grunted and turned back to face Clark. “How is Gotham? The League of Assassins intel suggested that the Court of Owls have been silent for some time.”

“Slightly outdated information from what Jason tells me. The Court seemed to go back underground after the night of owls, but recently there have been talon sightings.”

Clark heard the other man’s heartbeat speed up. “Do you know if —”

Clark held his hands up. “No. I have been patrolling with Jason but we haven’t seen or heard from Dick or Bruce.”

The heartbeat slowed slightly but didn’t return to normal. Damian gritted his teeth together. “When I return and take the mantle, we _will_ find them.” He said it with such conviction that Clark could only believe that he was telling the truth.

“What if Jason won’t give up being Batman?” Clark knew that Jason would give Batman to Damian if asked, but it was still a question worth voicing.

The other man drew up to full height and set his shoulders back. “Todd never wanted the mantle. But he is family, so when called upon he took it up. He knew there must always be a bat in Gotham.”

Clark remembered the way Damian had looked up at the empty suit in its case in the cave. There had been a great hunger in the child’s eyes, but also an understanding, a recognition of what being Batman truly meant.

“He did not want to be Batman, so I will not ask that of him any longer. When I return he will give me the suit.” Clark could see the same understanding in the eyes of the man that now stood before him. “He will be free, and I will be Batman.”

* * *

The ice clinks in the tall glass cups as Clark walks across the lawn. The sun is high in the sky and covers the entire garden in a warm, pleasant light.

“Can I interest you in some of Alfred’s deliciously fresh-pressed lemonade?”

Bruce looks up from where he is kneeling in front of a rose bush. “I would be very interested.” He sits up on his knees and takes off his gardening gloves so he won’t get soil all over the glass. After taking a large gulp of the refreshing liquid he sits back and sighs. “Ah. That hit the spot. Thank you, Clark. I was parched.”

Clark sits on the grass beside the other man and takes a sip of his own drink. It’s cool and lemony and just the right balance of bitter and sweet. “Alfred _really_ knows how to make it. Don’t tell her, but I think this is better than my Ma’s.”

Bruce chuckles and takes another drink. “Don’t let him hear you say that. It will just go to his head.”

Dick and Barbara come around the corner and enter the rose garden. “Lemonade! Where did you get it?” Dick says excitedly.

Bruce holds his hand above his eyes so that he can look up at the two young adults without getting sun in his eyes. “From the lemonade master of course.” He points across the lawn to where Alfred is exiting the French doors with a folding chair in one hand and a tray of drinks in the other.

Barbara and Dick run over to help him carry the drinks before they can fall off the silver tray and crash to the ground. Alfred finally makes it to where they are sitting and flicks his arm out to unfold the chair and set it in the sun. “The secret is to grow the lemons yourself. If you don’t do that, who knows where the lemons have been.” He slides on a pair of sunglasses and settles himself comfortably in the sun. “Who knows, maybe they would even be those dreadful GMO lemons that are pumped full of chemicals.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and dons his gardening gloves again. “How many times do I have to tell you, Alfred. That’s not how they make GMO’s.” He lifts his clippers and resumes pruning his rosebush.

Clark turns his attention to Dick and Barbara as Bruce and Alfred begin to playfully bicker. “How have things been going with you two?”

Barbara twirls her red and white straw around her drink. “Fine. I have a lot of assignments due for university because it’s near the end of the semester so, I might not be out much for the next few weeks.”

Dick tilts his glass back at nearly a ninety-degree angle as he finishes his drink in a few continuous gulps. He smacks his lips and lets out a loud burp.

“That’s gross, Dick,” Barbara says in exasperation.

Dick grins and pats her on the shoulder. “I couldn’t help it! It tasted too good to not down it.” He turns back to Clark and squints past the sunlight shining in his eyes. “Blüdhaven is good. Things are pretty quiet at the moment in the crime world. A few drug busts here and there, but not much else. Thankfully.”

“What about you, Clark?” Barbara asks.

Clark tries to think back to last week. “Same old, same old. There haven't been that many supervillain attacks lately. Hopefully, they are taking advantage of the good weather to get a suntan rather than to wreak havoc.”

A recent heatwave has spread across the bay area to both Metropolis and Gotham. That is part of the reason why Bruce can be found in the garden tending to his mother’s rose bushes.

Dick lays back on the grass and covers his eyes with his forearm. “God, I wish. They are probably taking the extra time to cook up something extra nasty.”

Clark hums in thought and makes a mental note to get an interview with Lex Luthor soon. A new thought pops into his head. “Oh! I do have news. I finally sold my Metropolis apartment.”

Barbara finishes her lemonade and crunches on an ice cube. “To be honest I didn’t think you even still had it.”

Clark laughs a little and runs his fingers through the grass. “I’ve barely set foot in it for the last year, I thought it was finally time to get rid of it and let someone else use the space. Plus, rent went up.”

Bruce leans over Clark’s shoulder. “If you had shut up and let me pay for your things, that wouldn’t have been a problem.”

Clark raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Aren’t you happy that I’m officially living with you now that there’s no other place for me to escape to?”

Bruce props his head on Clark’s shoulder and kisses him on the cheek. “Of course I am.”

Dick pipes up, “There’s still the Fortress of Solitude.”

Clark scrunches up his nose and turns his head towards Bruce’s. “Solitude is no fun. Besides I wouldn’t have it any other way, as long as I have Bruce, I have a home.” He leans forward and Bruce meets him in the middle for a kiss.

“Ugh. I hate when you two get all PDA with each other,” Dick says.

Bruce smiles and wraps his arms around Clark’s neck mischievously. “Oh, my love. Kiss me again in case I forget what it feels like.”

Clark grinned and made a show of kissing Bruce in as much of an over the top manner as he could muster.

This time, both Barbara and Dick groan. “Fine! We get it, you’re in love,” Dick says. “You don’t have to torture us with it!”

Barbara laughs and slaps him on the arm. “It’s good that Bruce is showing affection. Sometimes I worry he’s been replaced with a statue.”

Bruce gave one last kiss to Clark’s cheek before going back to his gardening. “Consider yourselves lucky you get to see such a rare event then.”

Dick rolls over on the grass to face Alfred sunbathing in his deck chair. “Hey Alfie, can I have the last lemonade?”

The butler hooks a finger on his sunglasses and tilts them down to look at the lonely lemonade still sitting on the silver tray. “I am afraid not. That refreshment was intended for Master Timothy.” He clears his throat and raises his voice to carry over the garden. “Although he would need to come and drink it soon, lest Master Dick gets to it!”

Dick sits up and leans back on his hands. “Where is Tim? I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

Clark thinks back and sure enough, he doesn’t remember seeing Tim lately either. Ever since he had come to stay at Wayne Manor, Tim had been slightly reclusive. He would spend time with them, but for huge swathes of the day, he would occupy himself with his own interests. It was probably due to being left alone so often by his parents, the boy had simply learned to be alone, and now that he was faced with companionship — he wasn’t used to it.

Clark makes a mental note to ensure Tim participates in more activities with them in the future. From across the grounds, he hears the shutter of a camera clicking closed. Clark scans the gardens with his eyes and sees the small boy hiding behind a bush taking photos of them.

“He’s practising his photography skills.” Clark raises his voice like Alfred had, “Although, I’m getting very thirsty again. Tim better come quick or that lemonade will be gone.”

This time the click of the camera sounds closer as Tim makes his way to them. Just as Dick closes his fingers around the glass, Tim appears from around the back of a thick rose bush. “I believe that’s mine,” he says as he plucks the lemonade out of Dick’s grasp.

Dick laughs and settles back into the grass. “Where have you been all day, Tim?”

Tim takes a huge gulp of the cool liquid and holds up his camera. “Photos.”

Bruce jams a spade into the soil under a rose bush and sits back to look at Tim. “You’re enjoying the new camera then?”

Tim smiles shyly and fidgets with the lens. “Yeah. Thank you for getting it for me, Bruce. It means a lot.”

“I’m glad you like it. I have to commend your taste in equipment though, it _was_ you who chose it after all,” Bruce says.

Barbara leans over Dick to get a better look at the camera. “What were you photographing?”

“I was just collecting research. Bugs and plants mostly, with a few other things.”

Clark smiles knowingly. It is rare to see Tim without a camera in his hands. He prefers the older models, the types of cameras that take film so that he can develop it himself. Bruce has even turned one of the extra rooms in the manor into a darkroom for him. “You must have hundreds of photos by now. Where are you even finding the space to keep them all?”

Tim smirks. “I find my ways.”

Dick wraps an arm around Barbara and pulls their shoulders close. “Hey, take a photo of us!”

Tim raises the camera to his eye to line up the shot. Moments later he pulls it away with a disappointed look on his face. His shoulders slump as he says, “I ran out of film.”

“Don’t you have more?” Barbara asks.

“No, that was my last roll.”

Bruce looks up in shock. “Tim, I bought you fifty rolls of film to go with that camera. How have you even managed to use them all so quick!?”

Tim rubs the back of his head bashfully. “Uh. . . I might have gotten carried away.”

“Can’t we just buy more?” Clark asks.

Bruce shakes his head in mild exasperation. “It’s a Plaubel Makina W67 camera. Everything is digital these days so normal shops just don’t sell film for it.” He looks up at Tim’s crestfallen features. “I’m sure I can contact the last seller I bought off and order some. But it won’t ship here until another few days at least. Sorry, Tim.”

Dick shoots to his feet as if a lightbulb just went off in his mind. “I might know a place! There’s this cool retro electronics store downtown. Surely it will have some?”

Everyone looks first to Tim, then to Bruce. Bruce shrugs his shoulders and takes off his gardening gloves. “I guess we can give it a try.”

Dick whoops and high-fives Tim. “I’ll drive.”

Bruce stands and shakes the dirt off his work jeans. "No, I'll drive. I know a shortcut.”

One very long shortcut later, the family finally make it to the camera shop. It’s on the corner of the street and has large glass windows that show off various posters that are so sun-bleached, it is impossible to discern what they are promoting.

“You sure about this place, Dick?” Bruce asks as they cross the street on foot.

“Trust me, this place will have what we need,” he says as he pushes open the door.

They follow him inside to find rows of shelves crammed with every type of machinery imaginable. The store isn’t that large, all things considered, but it looks like a veritable maze of electronics.

Barbara gives a low whistle, “Wow. It looks like the owner collected every scrap of wires they could find for the past fifteen years.”

Dick bumps her shoulder with his own. “Come on, give it a chance! You never know what cool things you’ll find in here.”

Bruce looks sceptical. “That _is_ the problem, Dick. We are looking for something very specific. Not a jumble of equipment that hasn’t worked since the 80s.”

Clark steps around a bin of old videotape recorders that are placed obstructively near the door. “Why don’t you kids look around and me and Bruce will ask the shop assistant if they have any film?”

Tim perks up at that. He had been silent for the previous interaction, too busy staring at all the gadgets he wanted to get his hands on, but now he buzzed with energy at the thought of being able to riffle through it all. “Okay! I won’t be long.” Without waiting for the others, the boy dives into one of the narrow aisles.

Dick smiles as he latches onto the sleeve of Barbara’s jacket and starts dragging her into another aisle. “I’ve got to show you the stack of retro 50s toasters they have near the back.”

Clark raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t realise Dick was so into toasters.”

Bruce shakes his head and walks toward the side of the store where the counter is. “You know sometimes you can be so blind for someone that has super sight.”

Clark weaves through the displays of electronics as he follows him. “What do you mean?”

“There is obviously something going on between those two. Has been for the last few weeks.”

Okay. He had not seen that coming. “What?! Really? I had no idea,” Clark says.

They came to a thick wooden counter that was piled high with more tatt. Bruce rings the small bell then turns to face him. “I think they are dating. They are probably making out at the back of the store right now.”

Clark blows a puff of air out through his nose. “And they were chastising us about PDA!”

He is still trying to process the information when a balding man with thick round-rimmed glasses ambles out from the storeroom. “How can I help you two gentlemen?”

Bruce plasters a smile on his face. “Hello, I’m wondering if you can help us find some film for a Plaubel Makina W67 camera?”

The man sticks out his tongue as he thinks. “Hmm, let me see.” He rummages about under the counter and lifts out a small box. “Here! Oh, wait, actually that one’s empty.” He scratches his nearly hairless head and starts taking out more boxes from under the counter.

Clark and Bruce look at each other as the pile of boxes continue to grow with no results. “Maybe I’ll check up on Tim and make sure he hasn’t broken anything.”

Bruce gives him the betrayed look of ‘ _How could you leave me alone,_ ’ as Clark turns away. Just as he steps into an aisle, he hears the attendant say, “I have a whole stack of film out back, let me just go check it all.”

Clark walks through the tightly packed shelves. They are nearly so narrow in places that his wide shoulders won’t fit, and he has to turn sideways to get through. He walks through old vacuum cleaners, blenders, televisions, and a section of shelves that look like nothing but tangled wires until he finds Tim.

“Hey, Tim. What you got there?” he asks.

Tim blushes and immediately drops what he was holding. “Nothing.”

Clark is puzzled for a moment as he looks over the boy’s shoulder to see a shoebox filled with rows of small thin rectangles. “Tim, you don’t need to be embarrassed. What are they?”

Tim reaches back into the box and pulls out a rectangle with a miniature photo in it. “Photo slides. People used to make them with their negatives.”

Clark reaches in and pulls out a slide. It shows a smiling woman with a haircut that Clark had last seen in the ’80s. “Pretty cool.”

Tim’s eyes light up. “Right! I think so too.” His enthusiasm dies slightly as he puts the slide back in the box. “I used to collect them until my parents told me it was childish.”

Hurt wells up in Clark’s chest. Tim _is_ a child. How could someone—never mind his own parents—put him down like that? “I’ll tell you what, how about you pick your favourites and we’ll buy them for you?”

Tim’s smile returns. “Really?”

“Yep. I’m going to go and see how Bruce is doing. Just bring them to the counter when you’re ready.”

“You’re the best, Clark!” Tim says as he excitedly begins to rummage through the box.

Clark makes his way back to Bruce to find the man leaning against the counter with a fed-up expression in his face. Beside him, Dick and Barbara each hold a toaster and argue over which one is better.

“Babs, look at the chrome on mine. I don’t think there is anything that can top that.”

Barbara lifts her mint green toaster to Dick’s eye level. “Stop lying to yourself. Look at the dials on this thing. Does your toaster have twelve toasting settings?” She holds her hand up to her ear. “Huh? What’s that? I’m not hearing anything.”

Clark walks up to them and rubs a reassuring hand on Bruce’s back. The shop assistant comes back out of the storeroom with a box clutched triumphantly to his chest. “Got it! Unfortunately, some of the film has already been used so I’ll give it to you for twenty dollars.”

Bruce pulls the smile back onto his face. He looks pained. “Thank you so much for your help. I’ll take the toasters too.” He opens his wallet and lays three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills on the counter.

Tim runs up and scoots past Bruce to put a small bunch of photo slides on the table. “And these!”

“And those.” Bruce lays down another one-hundred-dollar bill. “Keep the change.” He gathers the film and the slides into his hands and makes for the door as fast as he can.

By the time Clark makes it out after him, Dick and Barbara have finally stopped bickering over what toaster is better, and now instead talk about the different types of bread they intend to toast.

“I just know this will toast the perfect waffle,” Barbara says.

Dick slaps his chrome toaster. “This baby is going to toast so many pancakes. It’ll be great.”

Tim turns a questioning look on him. “Toasted pancakes?”

He nods. “Don’t knock em’ till you try em’, Timmy. They’ll change your life, trust me.”

Clark makes his way past them to the front of their group so he can be with Bruce as they walk to the car. “Mission accomplished.”

“At great cost to my wallet,” Bruce replies.

Clark looks up at the beaming sun high in the sky. “Well, you did pay four-hundred dollars for a pile of junk without the man even asking for it.”

Bruce shrugs. “We were the only customers. I felt bad for the guy.”

Clark looks at the man he loves and smiles. “I always knew you were a softie. You’ve got to be careful, or else your secret will get out.”

Bruce rolls his eyes.

Dick and Tim run up beside them. “Can we get ice cream?” Tim asks.

Dick points at an ice cream parlour just across the street. “I think it would be a really good idea because it’s really hot right now. Also, I’m hungry.”

“Dick, you're holding a toaster. Don’t you think we should go put all the stuff in the car?” Bruce says.

“The car is too far away! Besides, I doubt they have rules against bringing your own kitchen appliances to ice cream shops. It’s not like I’m going to start toasting the ice cream, I’m not a monster.” Dick protests.

Clark looks inside. It’s decorated in bright shades of pink and turquoise, and the smell of the chocolate syrup wafts out to temp his nose. Clark’s stomach rumbles. “I think we can spare a minute or two.”

Bruce relents. “Fine.” He pokes Clark in the chest playfully. “But you’re paying.”

* * *

As the funeral ended, most of the gathered crowd started to disperse. Lucius Fox had been a kind man throughout his life, and as such, he had a large turnout for his funeral. They were in Gotham cemetery on a snowy winter's day. Clark stood toward the back clad in a stuffy black suit with a thick coat over it. Beside him, Damian and Jason were stony-faced, grieving the loss of one of their family’s closest and most trusted friends.

Lucius had always looked out for Bruce since he had become Batman. After Bruce went missing, he had made sure to look after the boys too. He, along with Terrence, had ensured that Wayne Enterprises still operated smoothly and supplied them with the gear they needed to continue protecting the city.

Speaking of the mysterious Terrence, a man was walking toward the trio with a smile on his face. He clapped Damian on the shoulder as he drew near them. “Good to see you here, boys. Of course, I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

Jason shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “He seemed like such a tough old goat. For some reason, I never thought of him as someone that could die.”

The man nodded. “Yes, he was a stubborn one, wasn’t he? And I should know, I had to work with him every day.”

Clark cleared his throat. “Sorry, have we met?”

The man plastered a smile on his face. “Ah, you must be Clark Kent.” He held out a hand. “I’m Terrence Smith, although I’m sure these two have already told you about me.”

The man had black hair, a boxy jaw, and dull blue eyes. He was taller than Jason and Damian and just shy of Clark’s full height. Looking at him, he seemed pretty mundane, but Clark recognised the well-practised publicist smile on his face that was as fake as Bruce’s had been. “Yes. I think they’ve mentioned you once or twice.”

“Well, I should hope so. I am helping run their family business after all.” He leaned forward and spoke with a low voice. “ _Both_ of them.” He straightened up and tugged on his thousand dollar shirt to fix the creases. “I don’t know how our Lucius did it by himself for so long.”

Clark wanted to interject and tell him Bruce had personally contributed to a large portion of technological advances at Wayne Enterprises, but he realised a funeral was not the time nor the place for a pissing contest. “How did you say you met Lucius?”

Jason lit the cigarette that he had snuck into his mouth. “He worked with an old friend of Lucius’s for a while, then got a job at Wayne Enterprises. Apparently, he’s a tech whizz but he’s too humble to brag about it.”

Terrence chuckled at Jason, then looked back at Clark. “Jason is too generous, honestly.” He took a pause to think. “I’m just glad Lucius brought me into his confidence when he did, it means I can step in and take over his. . . extracurricular duties without things getting messy.”

Clark had to admit the man was right, without Lucius they would have had some trouble taking care of things on the technology side of things. After all, it wasn’t easy to sneak a batmobile under the books without people being in the know.

Damian, who had been silent until then, spoke up, “He had seemed so healthy. . . I just do not understand how he could have died so suddenly.”

Terrence looked at him with pity and walked past Clark so he could put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Damian. It was a shock to us all, but these types of things just happen.”

Clark stared at the hand on Damian’s shoulder for a moment before clearing his throat. “How did he die again?”

Terrence broke his contact with Damian and turned back to Clark. “Heart attack. I ordered an autopsy after he died, it seems he must have had underlying heart issues that he didn’t tell us about.”

Jason blew a cloud of smoke into the air. “So, what happens to Wayne Enterprises now that Fox is dead? He was acting CEO in Bruce’s stead wasn’t he?” He took a long drag from the cigarette and gave Damian a side-eye. “You taking over?”

Clark looked at Damian. He was young, but still a grown man. He was around the age Bruce had been when he had returned from Nanda Parbat to take the reins of the Wayne empire. It would nearly be poetic in a full circle type of way for Damian to become CEO now.

Damian rolled his shoulders back and lifted his chin to present an air of confidence. “No.”

Clark reared back in shock. “No?! What do you mean no?”

“I have decided it would not be in the best interests of the city for me to split my attention at this time. Current circumstances in mind, I have elected to use my majority share-holder position to appoint Terrence as CEO.”

Terrence preened at the news. Clark got the vague impression that he already knew. He held up his hands to Jason and Clark. “I can assure you I will do everything in my power to ensure Wayne Enterprises prospers and that this family continues the good work it does for the city.”

Jason held out a hand which Terrence shook enthusiastically. “Congratulations. Don’t let the power get to your head,” he joked.

“Oh, I won’t don’t worry.” Terrence drew back from the handshake and a more serious expression passed over his face. “Truthfully, I grew up with nothing — an orphan just like your father. I want whatever is best for this city, and at the moment that includes helping you two do your work.”

An orphan? Clark hadn't known that. He had thought Terence had been raised with a silver spoon in his mouth like the rest of the Gotham elite, never knowing the feeling of loss or hard work. Perhaps he had judged him too harshly.

Clark held out his hand. “Congratulations and good luck in your new role.” He thought back to all the times Terrence had been on comms helping Jason as Batman. “I’m sure if your previous work is anything to go by you will do a good job.”

Terrence gave him a genuine smile and gripped his offered hand firmly. It was an almost surprisingly strong handshake and he seemed genuinely happy that Clark had offered congratulations. “Thank you, it means a lot.” He let go of Clark’s hand. “Look, I understand it’s not the easiest to see someone take Bruce’s spot, but I want you to know I admired him. The things he did for the city and the people in it were beyond belief, it was a real loss when he was taken from us.”

Clark nodded. “He isn’t gone yet. We’ll get him back.”

Terrence tilted his head. “Of course.” He looked at Jason and Damian. “It wasn’t just him I admired. You two, the family he created, were the driving force for bettering Gotham. United, I know you all must have been indomitable.” He sighed. “It’s a shame you can’t all be together.”

There was a moment of silence as they thought of their stolen family members before Jason slapped Terrence on the shoulder. “Honestly, I didn’t know the mood at a funeral could get lower, but you’ve managed to do it, T.”

The man huffed a laugh and raised pacifying hands. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to —”

Damian cut in. “It does not matter. What matters is that we continue our efforts to find them.”

“Speaking of. . .” Terrence looked around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers near them. “Have there been any sightings?”

The Court was playing elusive again. “A few,” Clark grumbled.

Jason stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby headstone. “Nothing substantial.”

Damian hummed in agreement. “We need to wait for better sightings before we can establish a trail to follow.”

“The waiting game, eh? That’s never fun,” Terrence said.

“Nope, it’s fucking frustrating that’s what it is.” Jason clenched his fists together. “I just wish these owl cowards would come out and fight us instead of hiding away in the shadows.”

Damian grunted in something Clark guessed was assent.

Terrence clapped his gloved hands together and rubbed them for warmth. “Mr Kent, it has been a pleasure meeting you, but do you mind if I speak to the boys alone?” Clark must have looked confused because he continued. “Business things, you understand, yes?”

Clark didn’t let his annoyance show. These were his sons, surely he could be there when Terrence talked to them. Then again, better to not kick up a fuss the first time he’s met the man. “Of course.” He smiled tightly at Terrence then nodded at Damian and Jason before turning and walking away from the huddle.

The graveyard had fairly cleared by then, but some groups still stuck close together talking. Some of them were clearly family while others looked like old friends catching up after not seeing each other for a while.

Clark frowned. That was a sad reality of funerals; yes they were a celebration of the deceased’s life, but a lot of the time it was actually a meeting event of family and friends that couldn’t spare the time any other time of the year to see each other. Many travelled from far and wide to be at their friend’s funeral. They would meet up with people that had once been large parts of their lives and reminisce about ‘the good old days’, and then they wouldn’t see each other until the next person in the friend group died.

Clark stuck his hands in his coat pocket and looked around the snow-laden area for a possible target group he could insert himself into so he didn’t have to stand alone. His eyes caught on two straight lines in the snow. They travelled parallel to each other and swerved through the headstones like a pathway.

Clark followed them over the hill and spied Barbara Gordon in her wheelchair sitting in front of a black granite gravestone. He ambled over to her slowly, giving her time to see him and hear his boots crunching in the snow before he got to her.

“Hi, Clark.”

“Hi, Barbara.”

He could see that she had been crying, her eyes were red and splotchy and her face was still wet from the tears. She had been at Lucius’s funeral, but then her face had been set in stone. Clark would say she had looked disconnected from it all as if she was numb to it.

Clark glanced down at the headstone and read Jim Gordon’s name in neat gold lettering. Six years ago, Jim Gordon had been murdered by a talon. Without its police commissioner, Gotham had been thrown into even more turmoil and the court had gained an even larger foothold on the city. Barbara had been withdrawn since then. She had doubled down as Oracle, ruthless in her pursuit of the Owls, but her life as Barbara had been left by the wayside.

He put an arm around her shoulders. “Do you want me to stay or do you want to be alone?”

She wiped at her eyes. “No, stay. I. . . I need to talk with you anyway.”

Clark looked at her inquisitively. “What about? You know I’ll always be here if you ever need to speak about anything.”

She gripped her wheels in her hand and repositioned her chair so that she could directly face Clark. “I’m leaving.”

For a brief moment, Clark failed to understand. “Leaving? The graveyard?” Clark looked down at the thin layer of snow. “Do you want me to push the chair? I know the snow might be more effort to —"

A small smile flittered over her lips. “No, Clark. Gotham. I’m leaving Gotham.”

The words froze half-formed on his tongue. He could hear what she was saying, but for some reason, it just wouldn’t compute. “Gotham? Why?!” he spluttered.

She sighed. “A lot of reasons. But this is the main one.” She reached into her coat pocket and drew out a long white feather.

A black cloud shadowed Clark’s thoughts. “An owl feather.”

Barbara nodded. “I found it on my pillow.” She stroked a finger along its edge. “It’s a warning — one I intend to heed.”

“We can protect you. We can move you somewhere safe.” Clark knew he sounded unconvincing, after all, he couldn’t even protect his own family. Bruce, Dick and Alfred were testaments to that.

She shook her head. “I’ve already decided, Clark. I need to leave.”

“We could —”

“No,” she said softly. She took his hand. “They tore my family apart. I love you —I love all of you —but it’s too dangerous for me to stay. I might be able to break down a firewall in seconds, but I can’t defend myself against assassins. I already moved my headquarters out of the clock tower to evade Bruce and Dick, but if I stay any longer, I’m sure they’ll track me from my apartment to the new Oracle base.”

“We could move it again. We could find somewhere more secure.” Clark said.

She looked up at him with commiseration in her eyes. “If they get their hands on the information I have, you are all as good as dead. I’m not putting you all in danger like that just so I can continue living in Gotham.”

Clark could feel that the battle had been lost before it had even begun. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?”

“My databases are already wiped and my base has been gutted. I have to go somewhere they can’t find me, and that means somewhere where none of you can find me either.”

“You mean we aren’t even allowed to know where you're going?” Clark asked.

Barbara squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Maybe in a while. . . after things get better, maybe I’ll tell you so that you can visit.”

Deep down Clark knew that would never happen. He smiled at her anyway. “Yeah, maybe.”

* * *

“Can I look yet?”

“Just a little longer.” The lift dings to signify that they have arrived at their destination and Clark guides a blindfolded Bruce through the opening doors. “Okay, we’re here.” Clark reaches up and undoes the silky piece of fabric he had wrapped around Bruce’s eyes when they had first gotten into the car to go on their date.

Bruce’s eyelashes flutter as his eyes adjust to the light. “Where are we?”

“Take a closer look.”

Bruce glances around at the round shape of the room and the wide windows that wrap around the building. The decorations are of an old mid-1800s design, and an elevator shaft that is decorated with brass panelling sits squarely in the centre of the room. His eyes catch on the view of the city and he looks at Clark questioningly. “The Gotham observation tower? I didn’t even know they had finished refurbishing it yet.”

“They just finished the restoration work today. I had your assistant tell me first so that I could set up this.” Clark takes Bruce’s hand and leads him around the wide circle room to the spot behind the elevator shaft. There is a table set with a white tablecloth and laden with a spread of picnic food. A smaller table to the side holds two crystal champagne flutes and an ice bucket with the most expensive champagne Alfred could find.

“Ta-da!” Clark announces excitedly.

“A picnic?”

Clark pulls out a chair to seat Bruce. “Yes, I considered having a thatch basket and blanket, but I thought you would hate sitting on the floor. Alfred also insisted on packing cutlery for you if you need it.”

Bruce looked down at the wide variety of finger food and smiled up at Clark as he sat opposite. “I think I'll manage. How on Earth did you manage to plan this behind my back without me finding out?”

“You know, I’m actually very good at being sneaky when I want to be.” Clark had been planning this for weeks. The Gotham observation tower had been in the Wayne family for generations, it had been a popular destination for tourists but unfortunately, it had fallen into disrepair in the last few decades.

Bruce had commissioned a full restoration of the property so that the citizens of Gotham could enjoy it once more. Today Clark had put his plan into motion, he told Bruce they were going on a mystery date, dressed them both in their best suits, and blindfolded Bruce on their way here so he wouldn’t guess where they were going.

“Mhmm.” Bruce raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.

Clark blushes. “Alfred helped.”

Bruce reaches forward and starts cutting some brie from the board of cheese. “I thought as much. Regardless of who you roped into this plan, it is a very nice date.”

Clark blushes deeper. He’s relieved Bruce thinks so. Today is a very special day after all. “Thank you. I know you’ve been excited to see how the tower looks since the project began.”

Bruce lays brie and halved grapes over a few crackers and hands some to Clark. “My great-great-grandfather built this tower over a hundred years ago.” He bites into his cracker and waits until he has finished chewing until he speaks again. “In 1888 I believe.”

Clark finishes his crackers and drizzles some honey over a bowl of walnuts. “Great-great grandfather? What one is this?”

Bruce steals a nut out of the bowl and pops it in his mouth. “Alan Wayne. He had great visions for the city, but unfortunately toward the end of his life he went crazy.”

“Well, if you’re anything to go by —” An impish grin spreads its way across Clark’s face, “ —I’d say crazy runs in the family.”

Bruce looks up at Clark with an exaggerated look of outrage and throws a grape at his head. “Shouldn’t you be pouring me champagne or something?”

“Oh gosh, I nearly forgot!” Clark jumps up and pops the cork with ease. He pours the champagne and it sizzles between them as it hits the glass. “What happened to Alan Wayne then?”

Bruce thanks Clark as he’s handed the filled flute and takes a sip. “No one really knows. He went missing and weeks later his body was found in a sewer.”

“Morbid.” Clark retakes his seat and loads a slice of Wensleydale cheese onto a wheaten cracker. “I’m sorry that happened to him.”

“It was a long time ago.” Bruce bites into a chocolate-covered strawberry. “He was a philanthropist at heart, his main goal was to brighten Gotham’s skyline. Even after he died, his legacy lives on in the form of an architects fund.”

“He sounded like a great man. It’s a shame he died the way he did,” Clark says.

Bruce takes another sip of his drink and then sets it down next to a platter of Italian dried meat. He gestures to the room around them. “This was his last project. It was the original Wayne Tower before my grandfather built the skyscraper we use for Wayne Enterprises.”

“Why did he build it?”

Bruce looks out of the window at the orange sky of the setting sun. “It was supposed to serve as a symbol of welcome to visitors coming into Gotham. From the ground up, it’s designed to give people the feeling that they are cared for and protected. On the first tier, he placed five gargoyles or ‘guardians’. They faced each of the original entrances into Gotham; three bridges and two tunnels.”

“Oh! I think I saw them as we came in,” Clark says. Gotham was filled with gargoyles. They were a natural part of its aesthetic, keeping a constant vigil over the citizens that resided within the city. He had also noticed that they were prime brooding spots for Batman.

Bruce nods. “There are quite a few. Higher up on the tower are seven more guardians, placed to protect the seven train lines that converge under the tower. Finally, there is the observation deck.” He spreads his arms out to encompass the space they are sitting in. “Alan Wayne insisted it be free and open to the public every weekend all year round.”

Clark can feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest. It’s almost time. Bruce looks beautiful as always, dressed to the nines in his form-fitting suit and black bowtie, with the sun catching on his high cheekbones and highlighting his sharp features. Clark slides his fingers into his blazer pocket and touches the velvet box that rests inside.

Bruce holds up a finger. “But there's something the tour guide won’t tell you.” He gets out of his seat and presses close to the window to try and see part of the tower’s structure. “There’s a thirteenth guardian that was added in 1930 by Henry Wayne — Alan’s son. It was meant to protect the people that arrive in Gotham by air.”

The setting sun washes over the city and lights up the pale champagne so that it looks like liquid gold. Clark gets down on one knee.

“I guess it’s lucky he put it there since you fly here all the time —” Bruce turns around and cuts his sentence short in shock. “Clark?”

“Bruce Robert Wayne. These last few years have been the best of my life. What do you say about spending the rest of them with me?” Clark’s chest feels tight with nerves even though he is sure about the answer. “Bruce, will you marry me?”

Bruce looks completely caught off guard. His eyes are wide and his mouth hangs uncharacteristically open. His eyes flick down to the box and then back up to catch Clark’s eyes. “Yes. Forever and ever _yes.”_

Clark thanks his gift of superspeed as Bruce throws himself at him. He catches him as Bruce takes hold of his face and kisses him passionately. After a few breathless moments, Clark pulls back. “I’m pleased to say I kept this secret under wraps without Alfred’s help.”

Bruce leans back from the embrace and smiles at him brightly, not one of the fake smiles for the public, one of the rare ones that are reserved for family. “I can’t believe you managed to keep not one, but _two_ secrets, from me. I think I need to step up my game with the manor’s security.”

“Well, I must admit Tim helped me hide the ring from you. He hacked into the cameras and turned them off when I smuggled it in from the jeweller,” Clark admits. He brings the box between them and lifts the ring out of it. “May I?”

Bruce brings his left hand up. “You may.” He admires the way the bright metal sparkles in the light as the ring slips over his finger. “What is it?” he asks.

“It’s a type of Kryptionian steel. Harder than any material on Earth, even diamond. I forged it into a ring myself.”

Bruce tenderly grasps Clark’s hand and brings it between their chests. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

* * *

Damian was in the cave again. Since Clark had begun visiting him in the manor, it seemed to be the only place where he would find the boy. He worried for Damian, it was like the mantle of the Batman had overtaken his life to the point where Clark’s visits, and liaisons with the police, were the only human interaction he would have.

Clark listened to Damian’s heartbeat, it was slow and steady as he trawled through stacks of evidence that related to whatever new case he was working on as Batman. That wasn’t what had his attention though. It was a second heartbeat, further above ground in the manor. He slowed his descent and landed neatly on one of the stone balconies and let himself inside.

“Jason.”

The man in question whirled around. Even living at the fortress, Clark had kept in touch with Jason, not wanting to leave the burden of Gotham solely on the boy’s shoulders. But he was no longer a boy, he looked older than he was, the stresses of Gotham wearing on him. Even so, he was still handsome and unmistakable with the bright stripe of white in his hair.

“Hey, Supes.”

“Did you come to see Damian?” Clark asked.

Jason brought his hand up to scrub the back of his neck. “Yeah, I was filling him in on a case that spilt into my territory.”

“Ah.” After Damian had returned to Gotham, Jason had relinquished the Batman title. He patrolled the narrows, ruling it not as a crime lord, but as its vigilante protector. “And now?”

Jason looked slightly stand-offish. “Can’t I visit my old house?”

They were in the master bedroom, his and Bruce’s old room to be exact. Clark had tried to convince Damian to take it when he moved back in, but he had refused, instead preferring his old bedroom. As such, Bruce’s room was still filled with the temporary storage boxes that Alfred had filled with his belongings. The same went for Dick’s room which Clark could see through the open door across the hall. Clearly, Jason had been touring the house.

Clark ran a finger through a trail of dust on Bruce’s dresser. “Of course you can. I was just curious. I don’t see you here often.”

Jason crossed his arms. “How would you know? Being in the fortress and all.”

“You know why I had to leave. The Court knew who I was. Everyone who knew Clark Kent was in danger.”

Jason put his hands up to silence him. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Sorry.” He shuffled the dust layered on the floorboards with the point of his shoe. “I didn’t mean it that way. Just meant it was hard here. . . for a while.

Clark’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t fully abandoned Gotham to Jason, stopping by to help as Superman as much as possible, but Superman’s help was in high demand all over the globe, and Jason still had to work alone with nothing but Lucius Fox in his ear for the majority of the time. “I know. You should never have had to do this all alone, but sometimes life works out that way.” Clark cuffed him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. “For what it’s worth I think you did a great job.”

Jason smiled sadly and turned back to stare at the uncovered family portrait that hung above the bed. “Damian needs your help. He can’t do this alone, sometimes I wonder how he did.” Jason tilts his head towards the painted version of Bruce.

Clark came to stand beside him. He looked up at the portrait and remembered the day it had been painted. It almost seemed like a lifetime ago. “He had you boys to help him. Everyone always thought he was a lone wolf, but he wasn’t. He made his own pack and I don’t think he would have had it any other way.”

The room was silent as Jason mulled over Clark’s words. “There’s so much I never got to say to him.”

“Jason, there is still hope. He’s not dead —”

Jason interrupted him with a slightly raised voice. “That _thing_ running about Gotham isn’t him.”

Clark felt his stomach twist again. After the attack on the Metropolis penthouse, there hadn’t been many Talon sightings, almost as if the Court of owls had changed tactics. It was the last time Clark had seen Bruce or Dick.

Jason had seen them though. In the darkest parts of the city that Batman could still enter, he had seen the monsters that his former family members had transformed into. Jason had confirmed Clark’s worst fears. Yet, Clark couldn’t let go of that shimmer of hope, that the real Bruce was still out there, waiting to come home.

Silence settled over the two men again as they gazed up at the happy smiles preserved in paint. “He would be proud of you,” Clark said. “I know he didn’t always know how to show it, but he loved you so much, Jason. He would have let the world tear him apart if it had meant your happiness.”

Jason swallowed thickly. “I know.” He blinked away a stray tear before it could fall. “I should go.” He turned and walked out the door without looking back.

Clark picked up one of Bruce’s old watches off one of the bedside tables. Jason visiting the manor made sense. Often when Clark himself visited, he had noticed boxes partially unpacked and belongings set out for display. He had long suspected it was Jason but had never caught him until today.

He set the watch back down and walked out of the room into the hall, making sure to firmly shut the door behind him. He stepped across the corridor and paused on the threshold to Dick’s room. Yet again Alfred had mostly packed things away years ago, but incidentally, Jason had been rifling through Dick’s things too.

The ‘Flying Graysons’ poster lay unfurled on the bed beside the ragged form of an elephant plushie. Clark stared at it from where he stood. He remembered the night he had won it at the carnival, but he hadn’t seen it in years. It barely resembled its former glory— with a missing ear and an eye that drooped from where it had originally been sown. It had been loved by Dick to get in such a state. Clark smiled and closed the door.

He stood in the darkened hall for a moment, contemplating the past, before he decided to move further down the corridor to enter Tim’s old room. It was just as big as the other rooms and just as empty. All character that had been instilled in it by its former occupant had been ripped away when the room had been stripped and packed away after his death.

Clark stepped forward toward the large windows that stretched across the back wall of the room. It was partially why Tim had picked the room in the first place, the windows were positioned at the best place to see the optimal amount of the grounds of the manor. They were also at the perfect angle to see up and over the hedges in the rose garden so that no one could hide from Tim’s curiosity.

Clark intended to get close enough to the windows to look out over the garden but stopped short when his foot stepped on a particularly creaky floorboard. He glanced down, it looked relatively normal compared to the rest, except for the small scratch marks that scuffed the side closest to the wall. Clark knelt and peered underneath the wood with his x-ray vision. There was a hollow space underneath which held a shoebox and a red lockbox.

Peculiar, but then again this _was_ Tim’s room. The boy had always been secretive, hiding away belongings and research in case they fell into the wrong hands. Clark pried the floorboard up easily and took out the shoebox. He opened it and smiled at the sight of Tim’s collection of photo slides.

Clark set it to the side and took out the red box. He unlocked the box by breaking the lock between his fingers. It spilt open, paper and notebooks spreading out over the floor like a tidal wave.

The first thing that Clark noticed was the smell. It was an old smell, the type of staleness you only get from paper that has been around for a long time. Not that that was an odd thing to find in the manor, but it did pique a curiosity in him at finding a box crammed with yellowed newspaper articles, and old journals that looked like they had unravelled a century ago, hidden in Tim’s room.

He picked up a pale blue journal and flicked through it. It was written in looping lines of cursive ink, the life and goings-on of one Alan Wayne. Clark raised his eyebrows, why was this in Tim’s room? Surely a journal belonging to one of the long lost Waynes should be kept in the library with the rest of the family records?

He flicked through at superspeed and watched as the mundane day to day recollections turned into scrawling ramblings of a madman; “𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝓊𝓈. 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓈 — 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒. . . 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒. . . 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈!”

The journal devolved into indistinguishable scribbles which ended abruptly half-way through the book. Clark dropped it and decided to scour through the newspaper clippings instead. Bruce hadn’t talked about his extended family much, but Clark did have a vague recollection that years ago he had mentioned a great-great-grandfather that had gone mad and disappeared.

The news articles ranged from the mid-19th century right up until the early 2000s, most revolved around architecture in Gotham and displayed various ‘new building’ articles. Why had Tim collected all this? And why had it been locked away?

He dug out a yellowed newspaper article wedged between the pages of one of the other journals. Clark scanned the page, it was an article on Alan Wayne’s death dated 25th March 1895, according to it he had fallen down an uncovered manhole some months earlier and they had finally recovered his bones. Another page fell out and plastered itself across the floor. It was dated from 1888 and showed a picture of a younger Alan Wayne, standing tall and proper in his gentleman’s top hat in front of the newly built Wayne Observation Tower.

Clark smiled and ran his finger over the grainy image of the tower, he remembered the day he had brought Bruce there. He had been so beautiful, bathed in the setting sun, telling Clark about how his ancestor had built the tower as a symbol of welcome to all that had entered Gotham. After the proposal, Bruce had given him a tour and told him the small details that the normal tourists didn’t get to hear, like how when Alan Wayne had commissioned it, he had requested the thirteenth floor be omitted on the grounds of superstition.

Well at least that explained how the man had gone off the deep end, clearly his fear of the supernatural had taken over his life to the point of madness. Clark shook his head and continued sifting through the research. He still couldn’t understand why Tim had collected all of this, had it been a school project of some kind?

He spied a newer piece of paper with Tim’s handwriting scrawled over it. He pulled it out and froze. Clear as day were the words ‘Court of Owls’ circled and connected to the name Alan Wayne. Had Alan been part of the Court? Clark read further, horror dawning on him as he realised what Tim had uncovered. Attached to the back of the sheet was a map of Gotham, the Gotham Observation Tower was circled and beside it, written in bright red ink, were the words “Owl nest on the thirteenth floor.”

\---

The Gotham Observation Tower was unmistakable against the Gotham skyline, its long spire and basin-like shape still distinctive even after a century. “I’m nearly at the tower now, Batman.”

“Tell me when you’ve found anything,” Damian replied over comms.

Clark touched down just under the main observation deck, right at the point where the thirteenth gargoyle perched looking up at the Gotham skyline. He attempted to peer through the walls but the level of lead in the building’s composition made it impossible. “I can’t see anything, there are no signs of — no wait. There is a door.”

Hidden in the shadow of an intricate awning was the vague impression of a door. Clark ran his fingers over the stone bricks and they caught on a small keyhole. There was a figure of an owl etched into the stone, and the keyhole itself was positioned exactly where the bird's eye should have been.

_Bingo._

Clark blew a gust of his freeze breath into the hole and then used a controlled burst from his laser eyes to break the locking mechanism. The door made a clicking noise and then the rusty gears holding it closed shook as the door rolled open.

Clark had heard of the thirteenth-floor superstition before. Sometimes when buildings were built, if the owner was particularly superstitious, the thirteenth floor would be left out so that the twelfth floor would be immediately followed by the fourteenth. However, a thirteenth floor still needed to be built to fully ward off the bad luck. Alan Wayne had built this floor in secret, unaware that it would be used by his enemies.

Clark could immediately tell the hidden floor had been unoccupied because of the rush of stale air that assaulted his nose. “I’m in, I don’t think there is anyone here though.”

“What can you see?” Damian asked.

Clark moved further into the building. “It seems to be a base of some sort. It’s filled with old weapons and equipment.” The room was crammed with dusty displays that showcased a wide array of knives and various books. It didn’t seem to have electricity but there was an old oil lamp sitting on a bench in front of a giant metal owl mural that was bolted to one of the walls.

Clark picked up the lamp and lit it with his laser eyes, it sputtered to life, illuminating the room in a soft glow. “It seems to be abandoned.”

“Is it related to the Court of Owls?” Damian said.

Clark wandered further into the darkness and turned a corner. “Rao!” He fumbled with the oil lamp, catching it at the last second before it could fall. In front of him was the looming figure of a talon, it took a few seconds to register in the low-light, but Clark sighed a breath of relief when he realised it was an empty suit of armour in a display case.

Damian’s slightly worried voice crackled over the comm, “What’s happening? Superman report.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing. I found some talon armour.” Clark brought the lamp up to eye level and peered at the talon suit. “It looks old, clunky even, compared to what Dick and Bruce were wearing.”

“This is an old nest then?”

Clark moved the lamp around the walls, letting the light wash over the room’s dilapidated contents. There was a large painting on the wall of a group of people, a talon that matched the armour in the case was surrounded by people wearing unsettling porcelain owl masks. “I’ve just found some sort of Court painting. It’s dated as 1891.”

He could hear the roar of the batmobile as Damian grumbled. “The tower was only built in 1888, they must have infiltrated it from the beginning.”

Clark set the lamp down on a table and crossed his arms. How did this all connect? “Damian, there was something about architecture in Tim’s research. Do you know how that connects to Alan Wayne?”

“Hmm. Father mentioned that some of his ancestors shaped the skyline of the city, perhaps Alan had considerable influence in the planning of the city. I will check with the computer.” There was a moment of silence as Damian input his question into the inbuilt computer of the batmobile. Then, there was a screech of wheels as Batman suddenly changed course.

“Damian? What’s wrong?”

“The ‘Alan Wayne trust for assisting young architects’, is what is wrong. The Gotham Observation Tower was the first of nearly twenty buildings funded by the trust. They’ve built almost one per decade for the last one hundred and fifty years.”

“And you think they could all have been infiltrated by the Court?” Clark asked.

“It is a possibility, even if it is a chilling one. The newest building was only built five years ago, meet me there after you’ve checked the others.”

Clark’s phone dinged in his cape pocket as the addresses were uploaded. He shot into the air at superspeed, exiting the tower and rocketing towards his next target. “Okay, but don’t go in until I’m there, alright?”

Damian grunted, Clark nearly choked on air, for a moment it had sounded so like Bruce he had almost been able to forget that it wasn’t. The buzz of the comm cut out as Batman ended the transmission, leaving Clark in an unsettling silence as he entered the next building.

He crept through the dark, careful for any live talons, but it was the same as before. Well, mostly the same except the weapons and displayed talon suit was of a different style. There was also noticeably different equipment, like a typewriter sitting at the desk, or the lightbulb that hung from the roof. The portrait that hung from the wall was dated 1919, it was a different talon and different people, yet they still somehow radiated a certain smugness that came across from the eyes behind the cut-outs in the white masks.

Clark wanted to rip the canvass off the wall. He wanted to hunt the people down and force them to give Bruce back, but they were already dead. So instead he turned on his heel and sped out into the night.

Each of the hidden rooms was easy to find now that he knew what he was looking for. He simply flew to the space between the twelfth and fourteenth floors and looked for a shadowy alcove that hid the door. Each dusty room yielded the same secrets, an empty talon suit, a dated portrait that progressed further and further into the future, and equipment that transformed into more recognisable technology as he worked his way through the list of buildings.

“Superman, come in.”

Clark flew under a large gargoyle as he exited one of the buildings. “I’m listening. I’ve almost searched every address you’ve given me. They are all positive for Owl activity, but as so far I haven’t come across anything that suggests the nests are still in use.”

“I’m at the Lincoln building on 42nd street. According to the database, it’s the newest architectural project backed by the fund.” Damian said.

“I’m coming now, wait for me.” Clark did a roll in mid-air and turned so that he could shoot through the sky to his new destination. Within seconds he was settling down into an alcove beside Batman. “Need a hand?”

The owl-shaped lock clicked as Damian shimmed the lockpick back and forth. “I have it.” He stood up and jammed his clawed fingers into the crack between the door and the wall. “Are you ready?”

Clark shifted into a defensive stance and nodded.

Batman pried the door open, falling into a crouch as he did so, ready to battle any attackers. None came. Instead, an empty corridor lay ahead. It was well lit, the electrical lights buzzing overhead as the two men cautiously made their way inside.

“Damian, we need to be careful, none of the other nests had the lights on like this,” Clark warned.

Damian grunted his agreement and shifted into a light defensive stance as they made their way down the corridor into the main room. It was much the same as the other rooms Clark had seen that night, the assortment of weapons, the metal owl insignia bolted to the wall, and the Court of Owls portrait proudly hung in pride of place on the wall.

Yet, it was so different. There was no dust, do stench of decay, everything was new and well-lit by the crystal chandeliers that glittered overhead. A wall of computer screens was situated in the middle of the room showing cycling security camera feeds of different sites in Gotham. High-tech lab equipment sat in rows to the side of the room and various pieces of gadgets sat partially dismantled on a metal workbench on the opposite side of the spacious main room.

Batman signalled for them to split up and search opposite sides of the set of rooms. “If you find anything, signal me.”

“Got it,” Clark said.

He moved off, trailing his eyes over an ornate set of owl-themed throwing knives, and started scanning the room for information. There were books everywhere, they didn’t seem to stick to one subject, instead, they covered a wide range of topics from pharmaceutical compounds to geological rocks.

He looped around a bench of test tubes filled with a green liquid to the large portrait that was hanging on the wall. It was dated three years earlier and shared much in common with the other portraits; a group of finely dressed people wearing porcelain owl masks surrounded a talon. Except this portrait had two talons, one was adorned with silver embellishments while the larger one beside him was embellished in gold.

Clark immediately recognised them. “Batman,” he called. “I think you should see this.”

“Sorry, Batman is a little busy.”

A knife sailed through the air, embedding itself into the wall beside Clark’s face. Dick took an offensive stance, swinging his leg to slam it into Clark’s solar plexus before he could react. Clark stumbled, managing to twist out of the way of more throwing knives as the talon hurled them at him. “What did you do with Damian?” Clark demanded as he threw a punch.

Dick flipped out of the way and landed gracefully on his feet. “Nothing. . . yet,” he said darkly.

There was a shout from one of the other rooms before the far wall crashed down as Batman and the gold talon came smashing through the plaster.

“Ah, there they are now.” Dick took the distraction to grab one of the test tubes off the table and throw it at Superman. The thin glass smashed against his skin— the green liquid inside immediately making itself known to contain kryptonite. Clark’s knees went weak and the silver talon didn’t hesitate in swiping at Superman’s feet to send him falling to the floor.

Clark felt numb, so many years had passed and yet Bruce still looked the same. He wore the same gold and black talon armour as he had worn on the night Alfred had died. He was just as tall, and the armour still curved around his muscles to highlight the perfect condition of his body. His moves were just as graceful, limbs moving in familiar rhythms as they shifted through the fighting stances that Clark had watched Bruce cycle through for hours upon hours during training in the cave.

Batman and the talon were locked in combat, each hit and strike being matched by the other as they moved to the centre of the room. Damian landed a spinning kick that sent Bruce sprawling. He whirled around to face Clark. “They’ve got the whole place rigged we —”

The golden talon sprung up from the floor, stabbing a knife between the plates of armour in the Batsuit. “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t want to reveal all our secrets yet, _Son._ I haven’t seen you in so long, I wouldn’t want to spoil our reunion so soon.”

Clark got to his feet, eyes catching on the blood trailing down Damian’s side from the ornate throwing knife jammed between the plates of his armour. “Bruce, stop this!”

Bruce whirled around, body language displaying his surprise, almost as if he hadn’t even realised Clark was in the room. Clark made to step forward, but Bruce was quicker, in seconds he had twisted Damian’s arms behind his back and was holding Batman in front of him with a wicked-looking knife held to his throat. “Not one step further, farm boy.”

Clark stopped walking, he needed to think of a plan to get them out of this situation, but he could still feel the kryptonite residue laying itchily on his skin. Super speed was out of the question, so were his other abilities like his laser eyes and super strength. He raised a hand in a placating gesture. “Don’t do this, Bruce. Just put down the knife.”

Bruce laughed. “Oh no, my love. This isn’t going to be that easy —”

He was cut off as Damian reared his head back, head-butting the talon and smashing the glass in his eye lenses. Bruce stumbled back a bit but managed to keep his hold on Damian. He tightened his grip, pressing the knife into Batman’s throat harder until Clark could see it begin to cut through the kevlar mesh. “If you don’t think I won’t shed your blood because you’re my son, think again,” Bruce growled.

“Father —” Damian was cut off as Bruce applied more pressure to his throat.

“Silence,” Bruce hissed. He twisted his grip and brought a hand up to rip off the broken talon mask that was obscuring his vision.

Clark sucked in a breath. His heart beat harshly in his chest, almost threatening to erupt outward at the sight of Bruce’s face. The thing before him was a perverted imitation of the man he once was. The heartbeat was slow, so slow that each beat came minutes apart, and his skin was sallow and translucent so you could see the spiderweb of black veins that ran underneath it. The eyes were the worst, they were a deep amber, almost glowing as they peered out from sunken eye sockets. “Bruce,” he breathed.

Bruce smiled with sharp teeth. “What is wrong, my love? Don’t I look like you remember?”

Clark swallowed and tried to plaster a neutral look onto his face. “Let Damian go. No one needs to get hurt. Just stop this now before it’s too late.”

“Too late?” Bruce bared his teeth.

“Bruce, come back with me. Come back to us, it doesn’t have to be like this, we can fix you. . .we can make everything right,” Clark pleaded.

Bruce shook his head. “You don’t understand, do you? There is nothing to fix. The Court of Owls has made me perfect, they have given me strength, given me a purpose that can’t be rivalled by anything you could ever deign to offer me.”

“Bruce, they’ve poisoned you. Turned you into something that you aren’t. They’re using you, can’t you see? All they care about is money and power, you are just another pawn in their game,” Clark said.

“Don’t be pathetic,” Bruce spat. “I won’t listen to your lies. They warned me about you, you know. I won’t be fooled by your poor attempt at deceit.”

Clark felt his heart sink. Whatever they had done to Bruce wasn’t just physical. The Court had dug their talons into Bruce’s head and twisted him to their will. “You _know_ that isn’t true. Just listen, please. I can help you. It doesn’t need to be like this. Whatever they’ve done to you, I promise we’ll find a way to undo it.”

Bruce seemed to bristle. He opened his mouth to retort, but Dick called out from across the room. “I’m done. You can stop stalling now.” He didn’t wait for a reply, instead he sprinted out of the room.

“What’s he talking about?” Clark wanted to kick himself for letting Dick get out of his sight, he’d been so caught up in the action that he hadn’t realised when Dick had slipped away to the computer bank in the centre of the room.

Bruce grinned, it twisted his face, making him look menacing. “The self-destruct sequence has been activated. You can either follow us,” Bruce shoved Damian at Clark. “Or you can save him. Choose wisely.” Then he ducked out of the room and into the night.

Clark lunged forward and caught the still bleeding Batman as he fell to the floor. He pivoted on his heels, wrapping Damian in his cape as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the entrance corridor. There was a boom and a whoosh of fire as the explosives detonated behind him. The wall of flames rushed forward, chasing Superman as he dived out the door and fell into the outside air.

* * *

Dick tips the last of his wine into his mouth as his stomach growls. “Please tell me more shrimp bites are coming soon, Alfred.”

Alfred, in his many years as an expert butler, manages to swing the tray of drinks he is holding away from Dick’s grasp without spilling a drop. “Master Grayson, may I suggest you restrict your alcohol consumption until _after_ you have eaten more than just shrimp.”

He gives a pointed look at Dick’s stomach as it grumbles again. “The kitchens are working as fast as they can, perhaps they would have a better chance at keeping the buffet stocked with shrimp if you did not descend on the shellfish platter like a vulture every time a waiter brings out a new one.”

Dick sheepishly scratches behind his ear. “I suppose I can eat some of the vol-au-vents instead.”

Tim sniggers behind his hand but stops when the butler gives him a look. “As for you, Master Timothy, I must insist you keep your hands off the mini chocolate eclairs until you have eaten a sufficient amount of non-dessert food.”

“I did eat real food!” Tim tries to protest.

Alfred arches a single brow in a manner that is eerily close to Bruce. “You can hardly say one cheese canape is grounds for moving straight to dessert.”

Clark finishes his drink and reaches for another off of Alfred’s tray. He can’t get drunk, not even tipsy, but he likes the way the champagne bubbles fizz on his tongue. “I’ve been watching you, Tim. You’ve been eating too much sugar and not enough good food.”

Tim grumbles and reaches for a plate. Clark turns his disapproving gaze to a tipsy looking Dick. “I’ve been watching you too. Cool it on the drinks for a bit. I know you can drink now, but you need to pace yourself.”

Dick nods. “Yeah, I know. This is the first of Bruce’s parties I’ve ever been able to drink at so I got a little carried away.”

Clark nods. “It’s understandable. Bruce goes overboard sometimes on buying the alcohol.”

A hand slides itself around his waist as Bruce walks up behind him and lays a kiss on his cheek. “Three hundred bottles, all in all.”

Clark raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Rao, do you really use that many?”

Bruce shrugs. “Sometimes. If not, we just keep them in the cellar until the next gala. Besides, this is an investor event for the company. Some of the people in here will clutch their money to their chests until the day they die if you don’t liquor them up a little first.”

Clark looks around at the crowded room. They’re in the grand ballroom at Wayne manor. It’s lavishly decorated and filled to the brim with richly-dressed people that frequently attended ‘Brucie Waynes’ parties. The upper-class socialite types. After years of galas at the side of Bruce Wayne, Clark can say he finally understands them.

He is also vaguely familiar with them from his intern days at the Daily Planet, back when he was sent to work the social pages. But then that had been the uber-rich Metropolis new money, that would spend their cash on anything they could get their hands on. In Gotham, they are a different breed. Old money through and through; the generational greed of keeping their assets close to them, influencing their every investment.

Bruce is old money too. It can be argued that Bruce is _the_ old money in Gotham. However, instead of clutching his fortune close to him, he tries to put it to better use. He works his Brucie charm with the other members of his social standing, and bit by bit knocks away their inhibitions until, they too, are prying open their coffers to offer aid to Gotham at his behest.

Alfred reaches across Clark and fixes the collar of Bruce’s expensive tux. “I must return to my rotation around the room.” He gives Dick a side-eye. “And to check on the status of the kitchens.”

Dick fist pumps the air and nearly whacks Tim as the boy returns from his trip to the food table. The lights dim slightly, except for the stage lights and Clark spares a glance around the crowd as people begin to quiet. “I think that’s your cue,” he says.

Bruce straightens his bowtie and looks at them all. “How do I look?”

Clark brushes a stray strand of hair out of his face. “Like a million dollars.”

“I’m sure the suit probably cost that much. . .” Dick muttered under his breath.

Tim elbows him in the stomach. “As if you two don’t go to the same tailor.”

Dick rubs at his stomach and raises his hands in protest. “We _all_ go to the same tailor. Alfred makes us go to them because they are the only ones he approves of.”

Clark takes Bruce’s hand and squeezes it. “Good luck.” Bruce is never one to get nervous about public speaking. Clark is sure that Bruce could walk on stage naked and he would be able to deliver a stunning speech with a straight face and a steady heartbeat. He still likes to wish him luck though. Just in case.

Bruce gives him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you, Clark. I’ll do my best.”

People start clapping enthusiastically, happy to see their Gotham prince, as Bruce takes the stage. Bruce plasters a wide smile on his face and waves to the large gathered crowd. The clapping eventually fades as Bruce lowers his arm and takes his place behind a sleek glass podium engraved with the Wayne Enterprises logo.

“What is Gotham city to me, Bruce Wayne? In a single word. . . home? Family? Purpose? But the truth —the _real_ truth is. . . I couldn’t answer the question,” Bruce pauses as he looks out over the room.

“But then I remembered something. Something my father, Thomas Wayne, used to say to me before bed sometimes, back when I was a boy and I’d had a bad day — when I’d fallen down a hole in the ground and skinned my knee. At the end of a day like that, he’d pat my head and say, ‘Bruce, tomorrow is one dream away.’ That was his phrase. Sentimental, I know.” Bruce smiles a little at the memory before continuing, “But still, it worked for me.”

“The days following my father’s death were the worst of my life. Days of anger and fear and sadness. Still, that phrase —tomorrow is one dream away — it kept coming back to me.”

Bruce looks out over the crowd and locks eyes with Clark. “Deep down I knew, much as it hurt right then, things _would_ get better _._ My point is this; when circumstances are challenging, or frightening, asking ourselves what our city ‘is’, is pointless. Because all we will see, when we look around at the buildings and streets, will be our _own_ fears, our own frustrations.” He pauses for dramatic effect and the audience eats it up — practically leaning forward as they wait for his next words. “Our own demons.”

“But if we stop looking to the present and the past, and instead we look to the _future_.” This time Bruce’s eyes slide from Clark to where Dick and Tim are standing. “If we ask ourselves what can be —what _will_ be — then we’re asking the right question.”

“To me, family is of great importance. My parents wanted to build a better world for me, their work may have been cut off prematurely, but their legacy lives on. In me, in my family.” Bruce’s eyes trail over them and then dart to the side where Alfred is standing.

“Everything I do is for them, I strive towards the future because I hope that I can make things better. Because to hope, to dream, to predict is to shape the city to yourself, rather than be shaped by it. So, putting my money where my mouth is. . .” The podium sinks into the floor so that Bruce is standing unobstructed on the stage.

He clicks a button on the remote he is holding and a hologram springs to life in the middle of the stage. The audience lets out a gasp as different shapes jumble together before their eyes. Clark recognises the shapes as the Gotham skyline, and as the projection turns in mid-air, it becomes clear it is a model of the entire city.

“Next month, Wayne Enterprises will begin investing aggressively and immediately in Gotham’s future. Working with various domestic design firms, we’ve already set in motion an initiative to rebuild some of Gotham’s most derelict industrial neighbourhoods.” Bruce pauses his speech as the crowd begins to clap their approval. “From there, we plan on moving boldly to expand and modernise Gotham’s public transit system.”

Bruce projects his smooth voice throughout the entire hall so that even the people at the back can hear him. “I cannot tell you how excited, how _hopeful_ I am about these plans. Much more will be revealed in the coming weeks, but for now, look past what Gotham was, what Gotham is. . . and imagine with me, just for a moment. . . Gotham as it _will be.”_

“Now all I ask of you is to invest with me. Invest in Gotham’s future. Invest in your _children’s_ future.” Again, Clark sees Bruce’s eyes break away from the crowd so they can settle on Dick and Tim. “Because I promise you if we can do all that, together a better, brighter Gotham is one dream away.”

The crowd erupts into rapturous applause and even shouts of ‘bravo’ from a few particularly zealous people as Bruce flashes his best Brucie smile as he exits the stage.

Clark starts trying to weave through the sea of people that are trying to get to his husband when a broad-shouldered back blocks his way. Clark ambles around the tall man to find him speaking to the, only slightly, smaller Bruce.

The man holds out a hand almost as large as Clark’s. “Lincoln March, a pleasure to finally meet you, Bruce.”

Bruce takes the hand just as Clark makes it to his side. “Lincoln. . . you’re running for mayor, aren’t you?”

“Wow, I’m impressed you know.” Lincoln’s eyes flick to Clark as if just noticing him for the first time. “Sorry, you are?”

Clark uses his reporter smile before he speaks. “I’m Bruce’s husband.”

“Ah, I see!” Lincoln offers a hand which Clark takes. His handshake is a strong one, and Clark finds himself tightening his own hand slightly in competition. “I should congratulate you both on your recent wedding. You make a lovely couple.”

Clark drops the handshake. “Thanks.”

Bruce puts a hand on Clark’s back. “Thank you. I think so too,” he adds with a joking smile.

Lincoln laughs and takes a sip from his champagne. “Quite the speech you gave, Bruce. I love to see a man passionate about his family. Your plan to rebuild nearly half of the city is also very ambitious, I’m sure in tomorrow’s papers they will be calling you the man of tomorrow.”

Bruce shrugs. “Perhaps, although I’ve heard you are something of a philanthropist yourself, and that you have big plans as mayor.”

Lincoln smiles charismatically and taps Bruce on the arm. “Does that mean I have your vote?”

“Depends if I have yours,” Bruce says.

“Can I ask how many investors you have?”

“You can ask,” Clark says.

Lincoln raises his eyebrows at him. “That many?”

Clark smiles. He has helped Bruce iron out most of the project and he knows exactly how much work has gone into it. “We’ve been aggressive in our pursuit to recruit investors. Luckily the response has been enthusiastic.”

Lincoln nods his head along to Clark’s words. He looks at Bruce. “Well in that case, perhaps we should set something up? If I can of course borrow you from your husband.”

Clark has only met the man, so, if he thinks about it, he has no reason to be worried about Bruce meeting him as a business partner. “Of course. Bring him home at a sensible time.”

Lincoln laughs and slaps him on the back before giving Bruce his full attention again. “Perhaps tomorrow, Lunch? To talk about your plans.”

Bruce’s response melts into the background as Clark spots Tim biting into a cake slice from across the room. “Sorry gentlemen, I need to leave you for a moment.”

Clark pushes through the crowd in his haste to get to Tim. The kid never was good with sugar, and if he eats much more, he’s going to be up all night and crash in the morning. Clark makes it to the food tables but can’t see Tim anywhere. He heads back into the crowd and finds Dick lingering near a pillar by the side of the room.

“Hey Dick, have you seen Tim?”

“Not since the speech ended, sorry.” He sips at his glass of orange juice. “It was pretty good, wasn’t it?” He lowered his voice. “Although B did forget to mention all the Bat-bunkers he’s going to build.”

Clark scanned the crowd. “Maybe he’ll remember to say something about them next time.”

Dick laughed. “Can you imagine the chaos —” A platter of shrimp is carried past him by a server and Dick’s head follows it almost comically. “Sorry big blue, duty calls,” he says as he walks after it.

Clark shakes his head and laughs, he intends to walk toward the stage to look for Tim, when he notices a lone dark shadow move out on the balcony. Clark heads out the open French doors and looks around for any signs of the boy.

The ballroom is on the ground floor of the manor and its stone balcony has stairs at the centre which lead down into the vast gardens. There is a darkened figure standing alone near a crop of bushes. Clark recognises the heartbeat.

“Jason.”

A dark head of hair tilts in greeting. “Clark.”

A little under a year ago, the Red Hood had made his first appearance in Gotham. It took them weeks to figure out it was Jason back from the dead and since then, there has been a bitter atmosphere between him and the rest of the family.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Clark says. “You can come in. . . if you’d like.”

They had tried to bring him home, he was their son, someone they had missed so much it had nearly torn them apart. But the Jason that had come back to Gotham was jaded. The pit had marred him, maddened him enough that he was out for nothing but bloody revenge.

After the incident with Batman and the Joker, Jason had all but disappeared into the inner workings of the city. Only recently has the bulk of the pit madness receded enough that Jason has risked getting close enough to talk with some of the family— without trying to kill or maim them.

Jason hesitates, seeming to mull it over. “No. I’m only here because I’m following up a lead.”

After all these years, he still couldn’t lie to Clark. “I see.”

Jason turns on his heel and stalks away from him only to stop abruptly. He doesn’t turn around, but he says, “I suppose I should congratulate you and the old man on the wedding.”

It had been a lovely ceremony. They hadn’t had a big wedding, much to the disappointment of Gotham’s socialites, just the family and close friends. Still, even surrounded by their loved ones, the missing spot that Jason should have filled had been glaring.

Clark walks toward Jason but stops a few meters away. “You could have come. You would have been welcome. We missed you.”

Jason shakes his head. “Something tells me Bruce would say different.”

“ _Bruce_ misses you. I miss you. We all do.” Knowing Jason is in Gotham but not back home is like a knife to the chest. Bruce has been a specific type of restless since he found out Jason had returned. He stays out on patrol longer and skips meals so he can look over sightings of the Red Hood. Bruce’s nightmares have returned, even worse than before Jason had died, the really bad kind that Clark has to shake him awake from.

Jason is silent. He stares out over the lawn and directly into the long windows that line the ballroom. He starts to walk away.

Clark calls out to him, “You’re our son, Jason. When you’re ready to come home, know that there is still a place for you here.”

* * *

Jason stood at the entrance to the 13th floor of the Gotham Institute of Architecture. He was slouched against the wall, hands in his leather jacket and helmet nestled under one arm. After Damian had returned to Gotham and taken up the mantle of Batman, Jason had happily returned to his vigilante vigil over the Narrows.

He hadn’t gone back to his previous Red Hood persona, instead deciding to take a new name and costume. Jason had kept some of the Batman suit armour, re-fitting and painting it, along with altering the helmet to suit his needs. He still wore his old leather jacket though, too stuck in his ways to change in that regard. He hadn’t chosen a new vigilante name either, but the residents he protected in the Narrows had dubbed him simply as ‘the Knight’.

Clark touched down on the slight outcropping of stone that jutted out in front of the floor entrance. “Jason. Good to see you.”

Jason nodded his head in greeting. “Wish I could say the same, but Damian didn’t call us here because he had good news.” He turned on his heel and walked into the entrance of the 13th floor.

The Gotham Institute of Architecture was built in the ’60s using the Alan Wayne fund, the same fund that the Court of Owls had been harvesting to build their lairs. This building’s nest had been one of the 13th floors Clark and Damian had uncovered weeks ago, but Damian had been returning to them, at least the ones that hadn’t blown up, to continue the investigation.

Clark followed him into the nest, it was much the same as it had been the last time he had been there; covered in cobwebs and filled with outdated equipment, but the large round owl plaque had been rolled to one side to reveal a spiral staircase that led down into the darkness.

Jason looked down into the darkened stairwell. “It leads down below to a subterranean set of tunnels.”

“Do the other nests have secret passages?”

“Damian has checked them all and said that only ten have passages that lead to the tunnels. However, as far as we know, the tunnels seem to interconnect with each other as well as connect to the sewers.”

Clark went to move inside but Jason stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Clark.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Clark asked. Jason was staring at him with a worrying look in his eyes.

Jason sighed and dropped his arm back to his side. “What did Damian tell you?”

“He told me he found a hidden passage in one of the Talon nests, and that I should come and see them. Well, actually he told me to ‘come at once’, but you get the idea.”

Jason put a gloved hand on Clark’s arm. He wasn’t a touchy man, hadn’t even been a touchy child, so Cark immediately knew that whatever he had to say was serious. “Look, I’m gonna be frank with you, it’s not good down there.”

Clark’s heart constricted as his thoughts immediately went to the worst scenario. “Bruce?”

“No, no.” Jason made a sound of frustration and ran his hand through his hair. “How do I explain this?” he asked no one in particular. “Okay, so. . . they, the Court that is, must have been running experiments. There is. . . biological material down there.”

Clark was confused. “Biological material? Like. . . clones?”

Jason bit his lip. “Not exactly. Well, we don’t think so anyway. Damian has been running the DNA tests, maybe it’s for the best if you talk to him.”

They descended the winding staircase to the tunnels that lay beneath the building. It got darker and darker as they went, to the point where Jason had to pull out an emergency light before they had even reached the bottom of the staircase. When they finally made it to the tunnels, Jason set off down one of them and led Clark through multiple twists, turns and crossroads.

“How far do these tunnels stretch on for?” Clark asked as they made another seemingly random turn.

“We have no idea. Damian has been searching them for the past few days, but he told me he hasn’t even scratched the surface.”

“Do you. . . know where you’re going? There’s so much lead in the pipes that I can’t see through the rocks.” Clark said.

“Fuck, I hope so. I wouldn’t want to get lost down here, that would be a nightmare.” Jason waggled his eyes at Clark and laughed when Clark looked apprehensive. “Don’t worry, he showed me the way to the labs earlier. They should be right up ahead.”

They passed more darkened tunnel offshoots before they came to a dead-end containing an iron door. A soft blue glow emanated from under it.

“You ready?” Jason asked as he wrapped a hand around the door handle.

Clark nodded and Jason tugged the door open to a loud screech. “Batman!” he shouted. “I brought Superman!”

Clark was hit by the smell first. It was oddly clinical, almost like something you would smell at a hospital, yet there was an undercurrent of something foreign that tinged the air. Clark stepped inside and felt his stomach immediately do a flip. There were large glass tubes in the room, maybe ten in all, that were lined up in neat rows along the far wall. They were the source of the room's eerie glow, and the liquid inside them was lit by bright blue light which only highlighted the floating flesh encased inside the glass.

Clark walked up to one of the tubes to get a closer look. “What the hell is this?”

Jason walked up behind him and leant forward to peer inside the glass. He flicked the tube with a finger and said, “I told you it was bad.”

“Babies,” Batman said in a gravelly voice.

Both men spun to find a batsuit clad Damian standing directly behind them.

“What?” Clark asked, horrified at the implications.

“Genetically altered children. As you can see, whatever they were trying to do to the foetuses had varying success.” Damian replied.

Clark looks back at the flesh in front of him. At first glance, it had seemed like a large clump of meat, but upon closer inspection, he can see teeth and hair sticking out in various places. He looks to the tube bedside it, it’s marginally better, with identifiable arms and legs. As Clark scans down the line every tube seems to get better, until the last is filled with a baby without any deformities.

He checks, if only because he is still a man that hopes, but there are no heartbeats. “What is wrong with them?”

“God knows. Although looking around the rest of this room I’m kinda glad they didn’t survive.” Jason said.

Clark does look then, he had missed the other details because he had been so caught up in the babies, but now he can’t unsee the wicked-looking knives that hang from the ceiling or the cold steel dissection table that’s shoved in the corner. It’s not hard to imagine what these children would have been subjected to if they had survived.

“Rao.”

Damian takes an electronic pad out of his belt. “I’ve been running tests. There seems to be a formula of some sort in their blood. Perhaps the Court is working on a new serum to give to talons.”

“But why? So far the serum they use on the adults has been working fine.”

Damian taps at his pad to display a blown-up diagram of a molecular structure. “This is electrum. It’s a metal compound used in the serum to reanimate the talons and give them unnatural strength. As far as I found, low levels of electrum would kill children under the age of ten.”

Jason crossed his arms. “So, they’re trying to create a new serum that doesn’t need to use this electrum shit?”

“It would seem so,” Damian said.

“Wait but why bother trying it with babies? As far as we know all the talons up to this point have been taken when they are older?” Clark asked.

Jason and Damian gave each other wary glances. Jason spoke first, “The reason Dami knows about the electrum is because I managed to decapitate a talon and bring it to him to run tests. We found out that the talon was a man named William Cobb.”

This didn’t clear up Clark’s confusion. “Okay, what does that mean?”

Damian picked up the explanation from where Jason had left off. “William Cobb was Grayson’s great-grandfather. I have checked as far back as I can, there are multiple generational disappearances within certain bloodlines in Gotham which suggests the Court likes to keep their talons within certain genetic breeding pools.”

Clark didn’t like where this was going.

“I have tested the DNA of the foetuses. Half of them belong to Richard,” Damian’s voice was monotone, but Clark could tell how tense he was. “The other half belongs to Father.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. Clark nearly stumbled, but Jason put a steadying hand on his arm. Dick was the last of his line and the Court had been unsuccessful at acquiring Damian as a child, so what, they had just decided to use the family members they had caught to breed more? Clark was going to be sick.

“Hey, come on big guy, deep breaths,” Jason said soothingly. “If you want to spew, I won’t judge you. I think there’s a pool of my sick somewhere further down in the tunnels from when I found out.”

There was a storm of emotions swirling inside Clark. Horror. Shock. Despair. But above all else, there was a seething mass of rage bubbling up and threatening to spill over. “They take them from us. They turn my child and the love of my life into twisted creatures, and then they do this?!”

Clark shook off Jason's grip and paced in front of the two men. “They turned them into monsters then they. . . they steal their DNA to do _this?!_ ” There were tears in his eyes, spilling over to obscure his vision. “When will it end?!” he roared and punched the far wall, sending out a spider web of cracks in the clinical white tiles. “When will the Court decide that enough is enough?”

He hated the Court of Owls. He hated himself. Maybe if he had been better, been quicker, the Court would never have been able to do this to his loved ones. Clark punched the wall again, pouring all his rage and frustration into the hit. The wall groaned, tiles falling off as it shuddered, then there was a click as the sliding mechanism unlocked and the secret door swung open.

“What’s with these guys and hidden doors?” Jason said, trying to lighten the mood. He put his helmet on and drew his gun as he stepped through the new entranceway.

Clark went to follow but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. “You don’t have to do this.”

Clark wiped away some of the tears that still clung to his eyelashes. He looked at Damian, his shoulders were tense, and his face was formed into a perfectly blank mask to not show his true emotions. But Clark had seen that same mask on Bruce a thousand times before and knew how Damian really felt. Finding out his father and brother’s DNA had been used in such a way had deeply unsettled him.

Clark drew him into a hug. Damian was stiff at first, but he visibly relaxed as Clark wrapped his invulnerable arms tighter in a grip of safety. “I do have to do this. I’m not going to leave you boys to do this alone. This is not something any of us should ever have had to see, but we have to do it for them, for Dick and Bruce. All of us together, never by ourselves. Do you understand?”

Damian nodded from where his chin was resting on Clark's shoulder. “I. . .I. . . yes.”

Clark squeezed him tighter, Damian tightened his arms around him in response. “Good, let’s go and —”

“ —Holy shit!” Jason exclaimed from the next room.

Both men immediately sprung apart and darted through the secret passageway, ready for any threat that might present itself.

There was no threat, instead, Jason stood in front of another baby tube. “Guys, this one’s alive.”

“Are you sure?” Damian’s cape swished as he ran forward to tap at the control panel connected to the tube.

Clark focused on the child, it was a boy and his heartbeat was slow, slower than a normal baby’s, but then again, he couldn’t tell if that was due to a talon serum of the stasis tube. “He’s alive and fully developed. I can’t see any signs of deformity.”

Jason reached up to the top of the tube and shoved off its lid. Then he reached down and disconnected the various tubes and wires connected to the baby.

“Wait!” Clark cautioned. “Are we sure it’s safe to remove those?”

Damian peered at the control panel. “All vitals are normal. He should be able to breathe normally if we take him out.”

Jason carefully removed the boy and handed him to Clark who then took off his cape and swaddled him. He looked peaceful, with a little button nose and a head of black curls.

Damian stepped closer and looked at the child. “He looks. . .”

“He looks like Bruce.” Jason finished.

There was an awkward silence as all three men took in the repercussions of those words. This wasn’t like the other experiments in the previous room that could be handed off to the police when they finally arrived. This was their family, their blood. They couldn’t give him to the police, couldn’t let him be put in an orphanage where the Court could take him.

The baby stirred but didn’t cry. Then, he blinked open bright blue eyes and looked directly at Clark. They weren’t a stranger’s eyes, they weren’t some off shade of blue that a million people had, no these were Bruce’s eyes. Clark would recognise those icy blues anywhere, after all, he had gazed into them enough to know.

“There are. . . baby supplies in the manor storage rooms. I think. . .” Damian’s voice caught but he powered on, “I think they belonged to father when he was a child.”

Damian was staring at the baby just as the baby stared back at him. Two siblings meeting at last. Clark suddenly knew that the child would be safe, that Damian would rather die than let him fall into the clutches of the Court of Owls.

Clark looked down at the innocent child in his arms. Then he looked up at Damian. “What will you name him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning: Reproductive coercion/DNA theft/possible sexual assault/dead fetuses.** So the baby scene is very ambiguous in terms of exactly how the babies were created because Clark wasn't there to see what happened. I'll leave it up to you to choose how they came to be.
> 
> Come see me on my Tumblr [aboutbatman!](https://aboutbatman.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've gotten this far into my wacky Court of Owl ramblings I commend you.
> 
> This is it, the final stretch of fic! 
> 
> Enjoy <3
> 
> **∆∆∆Trigger Warning in end notes (Spoiler)∆∆∆**

“Terry get down from there!”

The boy in question, a ten-year-old with too much energy and not enough activities to staunch his boredom, jumped down from where he had been attempting to climb a tall shelf stacked with books.

Lois laid a hand on Clark’s arm. “It’s fine. Let him live a little. Terry, come here dear,” she called.

Terry shuffled over to her, clearly thinking he was in trouble. “I wouldn’t have broken anything, I swear! I’m a really good climber, even Dad says so.”

Lois’s lips twitched upward in a smile. “Oh really? Well, if Damian says so then I suppose it’s true.” She rested her fingers on her chin in an exaggerated gesture of thought. “Maybe you could prove it to me though. I keep the cookie jar on the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard. Maybe you could get it for me?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically and ran out of the room to the kitchen.

Clark looked at her in disbelief. “I don’t know how you get him to do as he’s told.”

She chuckled and sank back into her plush armchair. She looked good for her age, time had treated her well; a few wrinkles and some streaks of white in her hair were the only testaments to the amount of time that had passed. Yet there was still a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she said, “ _Please._ I manipulated men for years to get good intel for a story out of them. Getting a child to do something is a piece of cake.”

Clark huffed a laugh and crossed an ankle over his knee. “Try getting him to do what he’s told all week and _then_ I’ll believe you.”

Lois shook her head and laughed. “Whatever you say, Smallville.”

Clark changed the subject, “How’s retirement treating you?”

Lois stretched out her legs and crossed them over one another. “Well, it’s only been a year. . . but I feel like a king. Or a queen. Whatever.” She had been editor in chief at the Daily Planet after a long career as a Pulitzer award-winning journalist. It paid well. “The point is it doesn’t matter, I’m living a life the Pharos of old could only dream about. Did I tell you about the Italian chef I hired to make my food?”

Clark smiled and shook his head. “No? I thought you didn’t like Italian food?”

She smirked and winked at him. “Let’s just say I do now. What about you? Met anyone I should know about?” she asked.

Clark suddenly found his fingernails very interesting. “No.” Bruce had been the only man for him. The thought of finding someone else to fill a romantic role in his life was foreign.

“Pity. With your looks, I would have thought you’d have people throwing themselves at you.”

Clark glanced up to find Lois staring at him with piercing eyes. “Even if they were, I wouldn’t notice.” Clark had always felt slightly guilty for his ageing physiology. While his friends and family had physically degraded, both in looks and in motor function, Clark had remained in peak physical condition. His skin was as smooth, and his hair as black, as it had been twenty years ago.

She scrutinised him from across the room. Clark almost felt as if he was an intern back at the Daily Planet and she was grilling him. “I suppose not.” She looked down and flattened out a crease in her skirt. “He was a good man.”

“The best,” Clark agreed.

“How is the search going?” she asked.

Clark felt the frustration he’d been feeling for the past few years well up in his chest as he shook his head. “Not well. There’s been barely a glimpse of them for years. The last major sighting was just after we found Terry in the tunnels.”

“Did the tunnels not turn up anything?”

“No. Damian mapped the entire system, but all he found was cleared out rooms and collapsed routes. I think us finding the talon lab scared the Court enough to go into hiding. For how long is the question,” he replied.

“Maybe if you’d have let me do a spread on the Court of Owls. . .” Lois trailed off.

“It was too dangerous. If you had drawn attention to yourself like that, they would have killed you for sure,” Clark said firmly. Lois had already had a target painted on her back by being close to him. She had been one of the deciding factors in him deciding to leave the paper and live in relative seclusion in the fortress.

Lois flapped her hand at him to get him to stop talking. “Yes. Yes. You keep saying.” She sighed. “How are the batkids?”

“By kids do you mean the fully adult Damian and Jason that practically keep Gotham together by themselves?”

She nodded. “Yes, like I said, the kids.”

Clark smirked at her stubbornness. “They’re fine. Well, working hard, but you know how it is in the vigilante business.”

Lois raised a single eyebrow. “I do. I spent enough time dealing with Superman’s antics to know that’s talk for ‘they are working themselves to the bone.”

Clark sighed. “Yeah maybe. Things have been getting hectic lately. Things just aren’t adding up. It’s almost as if a storm is brewing in Gotham.”

Lois playfully rolled her eyes. “A storm is _always_ brewing in Gotham.”

Clark’s smile only lasted a split second before he sobered up again. “I’m serious. I can’t exactly explain how. . . but I have a feeling something bad is on the horizon. Things have been relatively quiet. Too quiet. The Court of Owls are lurking out there, waiting for our guard to lower before they swoop down on us.”

“Gotham is your city, I think it has been for a while now, even to the point where it has usurped Metropolis as your favourite. It’s Jason’s and it’s Damian’s too.” Lois leaned forward on the armrest of the armchair. “You can’t let the Court take it from you.”

“They have before. It was Batman’s city, then they took him. I pledged to look after it and yet they built a city of tunnels under it. Everything we do, they seem to be two steps ahead.”

There was a brief silence, the only noise the rhythmic sound of the pendulum swinging in the grandfather clock. Then, Clark spoke again in a solemn tone, “When it comes to Gotham, you don’t know it. _It_ knows you. The moment you think otherwise, the moment you get too comfortable. . . that’s when it stabs you right in the back. Because above everything else, Gotham is a mystery. One even Batman can’t solve.”

“Bruce loved that city. He gave it everything and look at what it did to him. Clark, please don’t let the shadows tear you apart too,” Lois pleaded. “Bruce wouldn’t want that. I can’t watch another friend get swallowed up by that city.” Her voice was sincere, Bruce had been one of her best friends too, and it had broken her heart when he had been taken.

Clark matched her gaze. She looked away before he spoke, already knowing what the answer would be. “I promised, Lois. I promised him.”

She opened her mouth to reply, to try and convince him otherwise, but was interrupted by Terry bursting through the door with a cookie in hand. “I got them!” he cried triumphantly.

Clark stood up and patted the dark head of hair. “Say goodbye to Auntie Lois.”

Terry pouted. “Are we leaving already? I just got to the cookies!”

Lois got up and hugged him. “It’s alright, I’ll keep some for you next time you visit.”

Terry still looked disappointed, so Clark kneeled down to eye level. “How about we get ice cream before we head home?”

The boy’s demeanour immediately brightened. “Yes!”

Clark ruffled his hair. “Go wait for me outside.”

Terry waved to Lois and then ducked out of the room. Clark put his hand on the door and looked back at his long-ago best friend. “I’ll see you soon, Lo.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Stay safe, Smallville.”

They nodded to each other and then Clark joined Terry outside the Metropolis apartment building. “Right, kiddo. If I remember correctly there is a really good ice cream place only a few blocks from here.”

They set off and Terry skipped along the street beside him. He ran forward and swung himself around a lamppost to face Clark. “The man you were talking about in there, who was he?”

“Never mind, I'll tell you when you're older.” What was Clark supposed to tell him? _Was_ Clark supposed to tell him? He needed to ask Damian first, Clark might be the boy’s acting grandfather, but he knew that Damian would want to be consulted first when talking about this particular subject.

Who was he kidding? Damian probably had an entire fifty slide PowerPoint just to explain everything.

“He’s Dad’s father, isn't he? The one in all the pictures at home?”

Clark sighed and nodded.

Terry was silent for another few moments as he hopped over the cracks in the pavement. “Dad told me you were married to him.”

“I was,” he said as he held his hand out to stop Terry from skipping into the road.

“So, if Bruce was still alive, he would be my grandpa too?”

 _He is still alive. “_ I don't know. Maybe.” Clark took Terry by the hand as they crossed the road together. “The ice cream place is just around the corner.”

They managed, to Clarks relief, to get to the ice cream parlour and order without Terry asking any more intrusive questions. They sat down beside the window so that Terry could look out and people watch as they ate.

Clark licked a drop of melted mint chocolate chip ice cream off his cone before it could reach his hand. “Are you enjoying it?”

Terry, who had managed to smear ice cream all around his mouth, nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! Chocolate is my favourite!” He took a bite straight out of the mound of ice cream and then winced as the cold settled into his teeth.

Clark smiled. The kid really was adorable. Fluffy black hair, dimpled cheeks, and a smile that could melt a block of ice.

Terry looked up at him with bright, round eyes. “So, my other grandpa. . . what was he like?”

Clark scooped up ice cream with his tongue and let it melt in his mouth as he thought about what to say. “He liked chocolate, just like you.” Terry giggled, happy with the comparison.

“What else?”

“He was one of the strongest men I ever met.”

Terry raised his eyebrows. “How is that even possible? With you being. . .” He ducked his head a little and whispered, “. . . _you know who.”_

Clark laughed and shook his head. “Not like that, although he was strong physically. I just meant that he had a strong character. He was passionate and loving, and he poured every fibre of his being into any task he set his mind to.”

Terry got down to the end of his ice cream and started on eating the wafer cone. “I would have liked to meet him. Do you think he would have liked me?”

Clark looked at the boy with Bruce's eyes and tried to hold in the sorrow that wanted to well up into his throat. “Yes, Terry. He would have loved you.”

Terry chewed on a mouthful of wafer thoughtfully. “Uncle Jason told me that his dad used to be Batman.”

It was Clark's turn to raise his eyebrows. “Did he now?” he said suspiciously. Just exactly what had Jason told the boy?

“Yep. So does that mean my grandpa was Batman?”

Clark cleared his throat, “What else did your uncle tell you?”

“That he and Dad had other brothers. Uncle Tim I know about, I've seen his grave. But what about the other one? Where is he? And why isn't grandpa buried in the Wayne cemetery with Tim?”

_Rao, help me._

“Your dad. . . well —”

“He's not really my biological father. I know, he told me,” Terry said matter of factly.

Clark sighed inwardly. The boy was too clever for his own good. This entire line of questioning had just been a ploy to get Clark to spill the beans.

“Maybe we should talk to your father when we get home.”

“No! Please, I want to know. Everyone keeps changing the subject when I ask.” He looked at Clark with big, blue puppy dog eyes. The kid knew all the tricks.

Clark’s shoulders sagged. He looked around the shop, they were in a secluded corner and the nearest person was three tables away so they wouldn't be overheard. “Fine. But we are still talking to Damian when we get home.”

The boy's body language perked up and he smiled wide as he wiped at his chocolate-covered mouth with a napkin. “You’re the best!”

“The man I was talking about today, the man I was married to, he isn’t your grandfather. Biologically he is your father. Damian, the man you call dad, is actually your brother.”

“Oh.” The boy didn't seem to know what to do with the information. “What happened to him? Why isn't he with us?”

Such innocent questions of a child. If only he knew Clark asked himself the same questions every day. “He was taken from us by some very bad people. Your uncle Dick was too.”

Terry was silent for a moment as he racked his thoughts. “Uncle Dick? I think I remember Uncle Jason telling me about him, he was Nightwing wasn’t he?” he asked.

Clark smiled. “Yeah, he was. Jay looked up to him as a kid. Back then, Dick was Nightwing and Jason was Robin.”

Terry’s eyes were like saucers as he clung to Clark’s every word. So many years in the dark had made him hungry for the family secrets. “So that means Bruce was the original Batman!”

Clark nodded. “Yep. Dick was the original Robin too. The original dynamic duo.” It was easy to reminisce, back then had been the golden days, the days before Gotham had finally decided to swallow them whole.

“So, what happened?!” The boy was on the edge of his seat, practically vibrating with the need for the knowledge that Clark possessed.

Clark set down the remainder of his ice cream on a pile of napkins. By then it had mostly melted, and he had lost his appetite anyway. “How far are you in to your Robin training?”

“Dad says I'm doing good! I've nearly finished my acrobat training and he says I’ll be finished with the second round of weapons training in a while.” Terry swung his legs under the table in pride. Clark wasn’t surprised that the boy was coming along so quickly in his training. They knew from the beginning that the Court had been attempting to create a new type of talon. Terry was advanced, less so than the usual meta, but he was faster and stronger than a baseline human.

“Has Batman shown you any of the case files he’s been working on?” Clark asked tentatively.

“Yeah, he’s shown me a whole lot of cool ones! He’s even started showing me how he looks for clues at crime scenes.”

Clark paused before he asked the next question. Maybe he ought to wait for Damian to finish explaining this. Then again, he doubted the boy would be able to last the entire car ride home without asking more questions. “Has he shown you the Court of Owls? Specifically the talons?”

Terry blinked curiously up at him. “Yes. Although only for a little while, he seemed sad when he was talking about them.” He bit his lip in thought. “Are they the bad people that killed Bruce and Dick?”

“Yes and no.” He needed to be careful with his next words. He didn't want Terry to have a bad reaction and run away. “The Court took them yes. But they didn't kill them. They took them and twisted them into something else. They broke them down and built something new in their place.” Clark stumbled over the words, it seemed too short an explanation, even though it was decades of Clark’s life condensed into a few measly sentences.

The boy’s eyebrows drew up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve seen the silver and gold talons?” Terry nodded in affirmation. “That’s them.”

Terry’s face was round and rosy with a youthful glow, but it drained of blood and went white at the reveal. “W. . . wait what? How could they be talons? How could Batman and Robin be evil like that?”

Clark reached across the table to steady the boy. “Life isn't good or evil like that. They were. . . _are_ good men. They’ve just been. . .” he struggled for a word to describe the torture that had made them into talons. “. . . Stolen from us.”

“But how could they go against everything they fought for?” Terry straightened up and drew back his shoulders. “Batman and Robin are symbols of hope for the city of Gotham. They protect its citizens and uphold justice.” He said it determinedly as if giving a speech, though Clark knew he was directly quoting his dad.

Clark sat back in his seat. “They are. Bruce and Dick would never have wanted to do the things they've done as talons. Working directly against the betterment of the city like that. . . it went against everything they believed in.” He leaned forward and made sure he had direct eye contact with the child. “I need you to understand that what happened to them wasn't voluntary. Their minds were poisoned, and it is our job as their family, to help get them back.”

“I think I understand now.” Terry looked up at him with resolve in his eyes.

He was a spirited child by nature. The kind to hold steadfast in the face of danger. Clark had often wondered if Bruce had been like that as a child before the loss of his parents. Clark grinned and ruffled his hair. “Good. Now, how about we get a second helping of ice cream before we go home?”

Terry’s eyes glinted with purpose, but his features softened a bit as he smiled at his grandfather. “Okay, but we have to get the sprinkles this time.”

* * *

Clark steps down into the cave with a tray of freshly brewed tea, just as the batmobile roars into the cave and parks up for the night. It’s later than usual, so Clark had told Alfred to go to bed as they waited for Batman and his Robins to come in from patrol.

The trio trudges up the stairs to the weapons bay where Clark awaits them. “That was a complete disaster,” Tim says with a deep sigh.

The three are scuffed up; their capes are torn in multiple places and a thin layer of soot covers their suits and skin. “What happened?” Clark asks.

Bruce grunts as he unclips his belt and lays it on a nearby table. He walks over to Clark and takes the offered cup of tea with an appreciative nod. “The weapons bust fell apart.”

Red Robin lets down his cowl and reveals Tim’s half-sooty face. “Twoface knew about the ambush. He had people waiting for us when we got there.”

Damian rips off his domino mask and glares at Tim. “Maybe if _Drake_ had not made so much noise, we would not have been found out.”

Tim drops his bow staff into its holding drawer and scowls. “Maybe if _Robin_ hadn’t broken cover so soon, we wouldn’t have been found out.”

Bruce peels back his cowl and rubs heavily at his eyes. “Boys, please. Now is not the time.”

Damian tuts. “When _will_ be the time to talk about Drake’s shortcomings? Surely we cannot let them fester and destroy future missions.”

Clark works his hands under the fastenings of Bruce’s cape and slides it off the weary man’s shoulders. “Damian, you were told to drop it. Apologise to your brother,” he says.

The boy gives him a scandalised look. “He is no more my brother than you are my father, _Alien,”_ he hisses between clenched teeth.

“Damian!” Bruce snaps. “I already warned you about speaking to Clark like that.”

Damian crosses his arms and pouts. Any negative feelings Clark may have for the boy melt away as he’s reminded just how young Damian is. It’s been more than a few months since Bruce came home from an away mission with his surprise child in tow. Ever since then, Damian had resolved to hate anything and everything that wasn’t Bruce, Dick, and sometimes Alfred.

“What did you expect? He's a rabid dog, unable to take orders,” Tim taunts. “He could have got us killed with the stunt he pulled tonight.”

“Tim,” Clark says in warning.

Tim backs down but Damian whips around with a face red with rage. “I did what you could not do! I did what you do not have the _skills_ to do!” He lunges forward with a raised fist and attempts to smash it into Tim’s face.

Bruce springs forward and catches his son’s arm in a tight grip. “Robin! This is unacceptable behaviour!”

Tim’s smirks. “He’s a miserable little —"

“Tim!” Bruce growls. “That’s enough.”

Tim throws his hands in the air. “Fine.” He turns on his heel and heads toward the changing rooms.

Bruce looks down at Damian. “That’s enough from the both of you. I expect better at your age.”

Damian struggles in Bruce’s grip and the older man lets go. “Don’t expect me to work with that amateur again,” he says before he takes off toward the stairs.

Bruce runs a hand through his hair and slumps in the nearest seat he can find. Clark hands him another cup of steaming tea as he leans against the chair. “That went well.”

Bruce scrubs his hand down his face and opens his eyes to give his husband a forlorn look. “Tonight was a fucking disaster. They snipped at each other the entire patrol.”

Clark puts a reassuring hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll get along eventually. They can't hate each other forever.”

Bruce reaches up and clasps his gloved hand over Clark’s. “God, I hope so. I don’t think I can deal with them being at each other’s throats much longer.”

Clark squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll go talk with Tim and try and smooth things over.” He turns to walk towards the changing rooms, but Bruce’s hand reaches out and snags his jeans.

“No, wait.” Bruce bites his lip as he thinks. “I’ll talk with Tim. You talk with Damian.”

Clark inwardly grimaces. Damian doesn’t like him. The boy was probably poisoned against him by Talia before he was even able to walk. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yes.” Bruce rises to his feet. “You need to spend more time with him without me being there. He’s still not used to you. Maybe if you can connect with him on a deeper level he will finally stop acting like you invaded Earth and kidnapped me from his mother.”

Bruce does have a point, Damian has avoided him like the plague since his arrival. Clark has to admit he could have made a better effort in the first few weeks, but he hadn’t known what to do with a child that so openly hated him. Plus back then, Damian had been so hostile he had attempted to break into the kryptonite vault multiple times a month to ward ‘the alien’ away. Perhaps it is finally time to take the leap and try to form a passible relationship with his youngest adopted son.

“Okay. I’ll try my best.” He leans down and presses a kiss to Bruce’s mouth. “Wish me luck.”

Bruce’s lips twitch into a tired smile and he leans up to deepen the kiss. He slides his arms around Clark’s waist and leans back to say, “Good luck.”

Clark hums a thankyou against his lips then breaks away from the embrace and makes his way to the stairs that lead to the manor. Just before he reaches the top, Bruce calls to him from down below. “Oh! Clark?”

He cranes his head back to look at Bruce. “Yes?”

“If he has kryptonite, tell me and I’ll come and save you!” Bruce shouts with a joking wink.

Clark rolls his eyes, safe in the knowledge that the vault hasn’t been broken into in the last few weeks. He darts through the secret door into the manor and beelines straight for Damian’s bedroom door.

He raps his knuckles against the dark wood. “Can I come in?”

“Go away!” a voice calls.

“Damian, I need to talk to you.”

He hears a sigh and inconvenienced tutting. “You may enter.”

Clark pushes open the door and steps into Damian’s room. It’s vaguely cluttered in an organised sort of way— with sheets of paper littering the desk in neat piles, and various art supplies dotted around the room so that they take up the least obstructive amount of space.

Damian is over near the curtained window. He’s wearing black pyjamas and is folding his Robin costume neatly before stashing it away at the bottom of a chest of drawers. The general house rule is no bat-related items in the manor, but Clark supposes he can let it slide for tonight.

“Damian.”

The boy spares him a glance. “Say what you intend to say. I must retire to bed soon.”

Clark sits on the side of the bed closest to Damian. “Your actions tonight were out of line.” The boy opens his mouth to argue but he silences him by raising a hand. “I don’t care what happened on the mission. I care about the way you treated Tim. Your behaviour toward each other is unacceptable.”

Damian finishes hiding his Robin suit and stands to face Clark. He crosses his arms. “I do not see why I should care about what _you_ think, Alien.”

Clark sighs inwardly. “And that’s another thing. Calling me ‘alien’ is upsetting your father. It’s time for you to stop.”

Damian blows air through his nose like a bull. “What would you have me call you? Father? Dad? Or maybe Big Blue like Grayson insists on calling you.” He shakes his head. “I think not.”

Clark almost wishes the boy did have kryptonite stashed away somewhere. Dealing with that would be infinitely easier than trying to reason with someone as stubborn as Bruce’s biological child. He wants to scream in frustration. “Call me Clark,” he says instead.

The boy scowls at him. Clark’s sure he’s trying to look menacing, but in reality, he can’t help but see a miniature version of Bruce attempting to look down his nose at Superman.

Clark understands in some sort of way how the boy must be feeling. He is hundreds of miles from home, surrounded by people he has only known for a few months. After spending years with Bruce, Clark is well acquainted with the Al Ghuls and their harsh expectations, Damian was probably raised from a young age with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

No doubt Ra’s, and to some extent, Talia’s love was conditional in terms of Damian meeting every high expectation they could possibly conceive for him. No wonder Damian is hostile towards him and Tim, he sees them as threats that might take away whatever attention Dick and Bruce are giving him.

Clark looks Damian in the eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Damian. Neither is Tim.” Damian scowls. He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Look, we want you here. I know we didn’t get off to the best of starts, but I want you to be part of the family and that means we need to fix whatever is wrong between us. I’m not saying you need to call me dad, but I would appreciate an effort to tone down the names.”

Damian turns his back on him as he starts to pack away some of the items he had removed from his drawer to hide the Robin suit. “I would appreciate it if you would vacate my room so that I may get some rest.”

Clark sighs in defeat. “Sure.” He stands up and walks to the door but stops when a sheet of paper sticking out of a black file catches his eye.

He picks up the file and flicks it open to find a hand-drawn portrait of Dick and Bruce. It’s black ink, each line expertly placed to depict a candid scene of the two men standing in the kitchen together. He turns the page and finds more artwork of random scenes of the house, some of them even contain pictures of Clark and Tim.

Clark lifts another artbook and finds this one filled with various pictures of animals which Damian has observed on the manor’s grounds. Clark goes to flick the page, but the book is ripped from his hands.

“What do you think you are doing?!” Damian demands.

“Did you draw those?”

Damian tenses up as if readying himself for a fight and clutches the artbook to his chest. “What if I did?”

Clark looks at the small boy and tries to assess his odd behaviour. What had happened in the past that would make him so defensive over something as simple as a drawing? “Damian, those illustrations are amazing. They nearly look like photos. They are _that_ good.”

Damian’s guard lowers slightly. “Well, they are not photographs. I drew them by hand.”

Clark sees his chance and decides to take it. “The animal ones are really good.”

Damian’s eyebrows scrunch up the same way Bruce’s do when he is unsure. “Are you implying the stills of people are not as accurate as the animal stills?”

_Oh Rao._

“No!” Clark scrambles to say. “Not at all! I was. . . uh. . . I was just trying to say if you like animals, maybe I could take you to the Kent farm to see some. My parents have lots of different kinds. Maybe if you like them I could take you to see the menagerie I have at my fortress. ”

Damian stares at him for a long moment. He cocks his chin up and walks over to the door to hold it open for the older man. “I will think about it. . . Kent.”

* * *

There was the roar of an engine as Jason pulled his motorbike up beside Clark. “Jay, how are you doing?”

Jason turned off the engine and swung an armoured leg over the bike. “My knees crack when I get out of bed and my ears hurt when the radio comes on too loud.”

Clark smirked and shook his head. “You’re barely forty!”

Jason shrugged playfully and slid off his bike helmet. “Forty is the new fifty, especially when you live the life of a vigilante.” He ran a hand through his helmet hair and pointed to the white streak he got after his resurrection. “Look, I even have white in my hair,” he joked.

Clark raised an eyebrow. “You still look alright to me.” In the past few years, Jason had changed his look. He had gotten rid of the leather jacket, favouring heavier armour in its place, and he had swapped his helmet for a domino mask. Clark didn’t mind the loss of the helmet, he liked seeing Jason’s face when they worked together, even if it had also changed over the years. He had a stubble that hadn’t quite graduated to a beard and a scar that ran from his forehead to mid-cheek. He did look older—with deepening lines on his forehead and around his eyes—it was hard to miss. But Clark couldn’t help but see the small boy Bruce had saved from the streets whenever he looked at him.

Jason walked over to the manhole cover he had asked Clark to meet him at and started working on prying it open. “You don’t look so bad either. Mind telling me your skincare routine?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

A hint of emotion not unlike dread hit Clark. It was true; he didn’t look bad. It didn’t even look like he had aged at all. There were no lines on his face, no grey in his hair, no creaking joints when he moved. In fact, he was as healthy as ever. He looked in the mirror every morning when he splashed water on his face wondering exactly how long a Kryptonian could live.

He watched Terry grow from a baby into a boy. He watched Damian grow from a boy into a man. He watched himself stay still and stagnant in his peak physical condition as if he were a statue stuck in time. How much longer would he remain unaged? Would he eventually outlive the rest of his family, cursed to an existence alone? It was a daunting thought.

Clark managed to cover his true feelings with a lazy smile. “A healthy dose of vitamin D of course. It works wonders for my skin.”

Jason chuckled and lifted the manhole cover off to expose the ladder that would lead to the sewers.

“What did you say you needed help with?” Clark said.

“Well, like I said last week, the talons have been sighted all over the city.” Jason began to climb down into the narrow hole and signalled for Superman to follow. “Especially in the Narrows which everyone knows is my territory.”

“What do you think they’re doing? After so many years with barely any sightings — why come back now?” Clark said.

Jason shook his head and jumped down the last rung of the ladder to land in the sewer. “I don’t know. They seem to go through cycles where they lay low. Years ago, when they took Bruce and Dick, the city was crawling with them. Then, after they couldn’t kidnap Damian and turn him into a weird little baby talon, they practically dropped off the face of the Earth with only a few glimpses of the bastards every so often.”

Jason turned on a LED stick light and shone it around the brick tunnel. “Years later we find Terry, and of course once we take him and interrupt whatever they were up to in the tunnels, they have to lay low again. But now they’re back in numbers, running through the city like flies on shit,” he said.

Clark hovered down into the sewer. It was large enough for them to stand in— with brick walls and a relatively tall curved roof. Two narrow ledges on either side of the waterway allowed them to keep their boots relatively dry.

“You know you can stop hovering. This ain’t the waste system, it’s just the storm drainage,” Jason said.

Clark descended to put his feet on one of the walkways. “It still smells foul.” A rat scurried past and squeaked angrily at him because he was obstructing its path.

Jason shrugged and tapped the side of his domino mask to activate the sewer map display. “Yeah well, it’s water coming from the Gotham streets so you can’t expect much. Just thank your lucky stars I didn’t bring your sensitive Kryptonian nose to the _actual_ sewers.” He turned and started walking.

Clark followed closely. “Do you think the lull in the Court of Owls activity is because they’re waiting for something?”

Jason shrugged. “We can’t be sure but I’m guessing it’s somehow connected to —” He was interrupted by a massive trembling of the underground. The walls of the sewer shook and the surrounding rock groaned as the tremor ran through Gotham. Both men stopped and stared apprehensively at the ceiling.

Clark moved closer to Jason, ready to shield him in case the tunnel collapsed. “That?” he finished.

“Yep.” Jason pointed the light ahead and continued to walk. “The tremors are speeding up.”

Months ago, Gotham had begun experiencing localised earthquakes. They were short instances of shaking in certain parts of the city, but they only happened once every few months. Now, they were happening every week. “Batman mentioned working with the police to find their source. I’m guessing no luck?” Clark questioned.

“Nah, Dami is overworked at the moment with all this owl business, so he’s had to leave most of the investigation up to the police. And we all know how they can be.”

Clark hummed in agreement. The GCPD had never been the best police force in the country, so he wasn’t surprised they were taking their time to dig up evidence.

“Now that I’m back from my space mission I can help. What do you want me to do down here?” He had been away as of late, dealing with General Zod and one of his hair-brained invasion plots.

Jason took out a small device and tossed it to him. “I need help on a hunch. We’re looking for a metamorphic rock, kinda like marble.”

Clark activated the scanner device and shone it on the wall. It gave a low beep to signify the compound it was searching for had not been detected. “Why?” Clark asked.

Jason trudged further down the tunnel and turned left down a split. “Well, all that talon activity I told you about, it’s been turning up bodies. People are going missing all over the city, but especially in the narrows. Next thing I know, they’re turning up dead in the drainage ditches.”

“So we are looking for bodies down here?”

“Nope. I gave some of the corpses to Damian to see if he could find anything. Turns out nearly all of them had traces of dust from a white type of rock. It’s pretty rare for this part of the world, and since all of the Gotham sewers are granite, we think the victims have come into contact with it in some sort of Owl nest.”

“Did you check the tunnels we found a while ago?” Clark said.

“Yeah, we’ve mapped every inch of them. Just to be safe we have police doing routine sweeps of the tunnel system, but so far they haven’t reported any activity.”

Clark looked around the dank sewer as he scanned its walls for traces of the rock. “Which leads us here,” he surmised blandly.

Jason snorted. “I know it’s not the most glamorous job but I thought it would go quicker with two sets of eyes.”

The two men continued their search, turning further and further into the dingy sewer system with only Jason’s LED light to guide their way. The low beeping of both scanners signifying negative results filled the silence as they walked.

A nest of rats squeaked loudly as the light interrupted their slumber. Jason sidestepped them warily. “Did Bruce ever tell you about the Rat Catcher?”

Clark wracked his brain for the directory of obscure Gotham villains he and Bruce had dealt with over the years. “No? I don’t think so.”

“He was a crazy bastard. Used to live down here with the rats and control them.” Jason said.

Clark scanned a mossy section of wall and moved on when he got negative results. “And he was some sort of criminal?”

“Oh yeah, he would use them to rob banks.” Clark gave him a sceptical look. “Trust me, he doesn’t sound like one, but there is a certain type of fear you get when a mind-controlled army of rats comes running at you to rip your skin off,” Jason said.

Clark shook his head in amusement. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. Although I’m not surprised there were wacky villains like that in Gotham, when secret societies like the Court exist too.”

Jason turned around and flashed Clark a grin. “Yeah well, the Court aren’t the only wacky things in Gotham at the moment. Has Damian told you about the Question yet?”

“The Question?”

“Yeah, the Riddler’s protégé. He’s a bit skeevy if you ask me, but luckily he tends to stay in Batman’s territory rather than play his little games in the Narrows with me.”

“I can’t imagine a narcissist like the Riddler ever taking time to train someone. He always seemed like a lone —” Clark broke off as his scanner let out a high-pitched beep and flashed green. “Jay, I think I found something.”

Jason hopped over the waterway to join Clark in front of an unassuming section of wall. “You see anything on the other side?”

Clark peered through the brick wall to see a labyrinth of tall white walls. “Stand back.” He waited for Jason to step away before he levelled a flat punch to the wall and brought a small section of it down.

Jason hopped through the hole and stepped into the marble maze. “Fuck.”

Clark went through after him. The walls were extremely tall and allowed deep shadows to form, as they cut off some of the meagre light that shone down from lamps hanging from the high rock ceiling. “All this was hidden down here and we didn’t even know. For it to be built in secret it probably had to be built at the same time as the sewers.”

Jason spun in a circle as he took in his surroundings. “The sewers are nearly two hundred years old. I guess that confirms it belongs to the Court of Owls then.”

Clark tried to use his x-ray vision to see to the other side of the labyrinth, but all he could discern was an endless sea of white rock that seemed to stretch on and on, folding in on itself with sharp turns and dead ends as it went. “The maze is too big for me to look through. I’m going to fly up and see if I can make anything out.”

Jason nodded in agreement. “I’ll look on the ground.”

“Be careful, we don’t know what’s lurking in here,” Clark said.

He floated up over the first wall and looked down on the maze with a birds-eye view. The entire thing was massive, easily four football fields in length, and its winding corridors of rock twisted themselves into the shape of an owls head. The walls were crooked in some places and straight in others so that the view of whoever was in the maze was obstructed at some points. The darkness that some of the walls harboured became more apparent from Clark’s height because various sections of the maze were so dark that the inky blackness hid things from his view. He watched as Jason disappeared around a corner and out of sight.

From his viewpoint, Clark could make out deviations from a normal maze layout. At some points, there were open-top rooms. One had a large statue of an owl spreading its wings across the fountain pool at its feet. Another looked to be filled with hundreds of coffins, some were laying open and empty, while others had their lids firmly shut.

Clark squinted his eyes and flew closer to the Eastern side of the maze to get a better look at the third room—just as he got close enough to make out the outlines of photographs hanging on the wall—he spotted movement in one of the shadows.

Clark floated down into the maze. “Jay?” The darkness cloyed to the walls, so much so that even his superior Kryptonian sight couldn’t penetrate it.

“Afraid not, Clark.” Bruce lurched forward, a kryptonite knife held tightly in his hand as he slashed at Superman.

Clark stumbled backwards as Bruce pivoted on his heel and sprinted deeper into the maze. “No stop! Bruce!”

Bruce’s dark laughter echoed off the walls as Clark pursued him. “I see you’ve found our nest,” Bruce shouted as he ran. “Do you think it’s pretty? It was made especially for guests like you.”

The voice seemed to come from multiple different angles, Clark turned in a circle on the spot— faced with four branching pathways that all led in different directions. “Stop these games, Bruce! Come and fight me!” he shouted.

More laughter filtered out of the corridors. “Catch me! Catch me! If you can!” Bruce sing-songed.

Clark bit his lip and picked a corridor to run down, he turned a corner just in time to catch an armoured foot duck into an archway. _Gotcha._ Clark sped forward with superspeed and dived through the doorway, ready to pin Bruce down and stop him from running further.

Clark immediately put his hand up to shield his sensitive eyes. The corridor had been dark, but the room he had entered had a blinding bright light that refracted off the bone-white walls to spear at his eyes.

“Bruce?” Clark blinked his eyes open to find an empty room. Well, almost empty. It had an antique camera set up in the centre that faced rows of neatly hung photo frames that covered an entire wall. The stone of the wall beside Clark had hundreds of names meticulously carved into it in neat lines.

“What the hell,” Clark said under his breath as he ran a finger across the engravings. The names spanned the entire length of the wall; Janice Pettigrew, Elizabeth Frankmurth, Frederick Gamble — Clark paused at a familiar name; Jarvis Pennyworth. His eyebrows scrunched up as he tried to remember where he had heard it before. Clark’s eyes widened. It was Alfred’s father, the one that had mysteriously died shortly before Alfred had come to Gotham.

Clark stood back and scanned the block of text before he found the name he was searching for near the middle; Alan Wayne. Clark looked closer to the bottom of the list to find the newer names. Two rows from the bottom were Betty Park, Miguel Guadalupe, Jan Spitz and at least three dozen more — all the people the talons had killed during the night of owls twenty years ago. That meant all the names —all those people on the wall —had been killed by the Court of Owls.

Clark whirled around to the wall of photographs and sucked in a shocked breath at what he saw. Each row displayed the same person, but as the photos progressed, the physical state of the person degraded until they looked more like a corpse than a living person. A thick, black, dread settled in Clark’s stomach. He took a step forward, already knowing what he would find when he looked closer, but still unable to spare himself from the sight.

Five rows near the bottom stood out, not because the people in them looked any worse than the sorry lot above them, but because Clark recognised the people in the pictures. Clark stared at the faces in the photos— Dick and Bruce stared back.

Dick’s photos came first, followed immediately by Bruce. The first few pictures looked almost normal, like passport photos taken days apart, except the blue eyes Clark had once recognised were filled with fear. The photos continued, the skin around Dick’s facial features taunt with stress, and the bruises under Bruce’s eyes showing the exhaustion they faced. Hair bloomed in their chins, giving way to scraggly beards as the weeks ticked by. Bile rose in his throat. The last few photos were grizzly. They both looked sallow, their skin yellow in some places and their eyes full of terror and hunger. Clark could barely recognise them, they looked dead, like some sort of rabid animals staring back at the camera.

Is this how the Court had broken them? Dropped them in this labyrinth and left them here until their sanity gave way to obedience?

The antique camera crashed against the side of Clark’s head and shattered into pieces.

Bruce jumped back as Clark aimed a defensive punch at him. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Clark’s horror turned to anger. He aimed a kick at Bruce the man dodged with practised ease. “Is this where they kept you? Down here under all this rock, down here where I would have no hope in finding you?! All those months searching every inch of Gotham and you were here. Right under my fucking nose!”

The golden owl mask of the talon stared back blankly as Bruce laughed from under it. “ ‘Behind granite and lime,’ it was right in the song all along.” He ducked a punch and stabbed a small green dagger into Clark’s boot.

Bruce danced away from him on light feet and ran out the door as Clark screamed in pain. He clutched the dagger in a strong hand and yanked it out of his foot. Rage seethed inside him. This maze had helped destroy his family. He threw the knife at one of the walls and watched in satisfaction as it sliced into the rock with such force that cracks appeared and shattered the neat rows of names.

Clark turned on his heel and ran straight through the stone, no longer caring about the predetermined route that the maze bid him take. “Bruce! Tell me where they are!” he shouted. “Tell me where the Owls are, and I’ll tear them to pieces!”

Bruce’s disembodied voice echoed from up ahead. “Oh, don’t be angry at the Court, Superman! The maze is a gift — no it’s a key — a key to unlocking the mind. Only the strongest survive, only the strongest survive to be re-birthed in the safety of its walls.”

Clark glimpsed the gold of the talon’s armour and zoomed forward in a burst of speed to grab onto his dart-lined gauntlet. “This maze is a grave. A place where the Court tortures innocents and forces them to endure its endless white walls until they go mad.”

Bruce leant forward into the hold until Clark could see his glowing amber eyes staring out through the lenses of the mask. “Until they go mad yes. Until their minds turn to jelly and the Owls can get their claws in to rip away the unneeded flesh.”

Clark looked under the mask to see the talon’s grinning face. Bruce continued, “They take it away, the dirty rotten flesh, the rot and ruin that hinders even the best of us.” His sharp teeth bit into his own lip to draw blood as he spoke. “They take it away and let our wings grow. And once they do, they set us free, no longer caged by the filth of society.”

Seeing Bruce like this, so unhinged, made a spike of sadness shoot through him. Of course, he had known Bruce had been brainwashed by the way he had acted at their other meetings, but then he had been so refined — almost like his old self as he fought against Clark and Damian. Now, the frothing madness was shining through as his once clever husband spouted propaganda and Court lies.

Clark’s gaze softened even as Bruce stared back at him with hate in his eyes. “What have they done to you?” he said gently. “Wings and flesh and talons, are these the lies you’ve told yourself in some attempt to keep yourself from falling apart? Have they ruined you this much that you actually believe they care for you?”

“They do! Keep your filthy mouth shut you mongrel! They are the only ones that care!” Bruce snarled.

Clark tried not to be hurt by the empty words. “No, they don’t, Bruce. I do. You know I do.” Clark could feel the tightness of tears welling up in his chest and throat. His voice broke as he said, “I love you. I love you so much it hurts, and I just want you to come home. Please, Bruce, just come home with me.”

Bruce wasn’t listening, Instead, the crazy glint in his golden eyes grew stronger. “They are going to fix this city. They are going to give it a new life just like how they saved me. You’ll see, you’ll all see the glory he will bring.”

Clark opened his mouth to plead but a pained yell came from deeper into the maze. Clark’s head flew up and his eyes searched hopelessly through the white walls around him. “ _Jason.”_

Bruce swung the hand Clark wasn’t holding, Clark managed to let go of him just in time to dodge the kryptonite infused blade.

Bruce shifted into a defensive stance. “Yet again, _Superman,_ you can catch me, or you can save your welp. What path will you choose I wonder?”

Jason’s second scream of pain broke over the high walls of the maze. Clark didn’t wait for a third. He barrelled through the walls in the general direction of the scream and broke out into the room with the owl fountain.

Jason was lying prone on the ground in front of the fountain. Beside him was the decapitated corpse of a talon with brass markings. “Jason!” Clark went to move forward but spied movement in one of the other dark corridors that connected to the room.

He squinted his eyes and made out the silhouette of Dick and at least three other talons sauntering towards the clearing. Dick raised his voice to speak. “Tut tut, Clark. Looks like your little bird should have been more careful.” Dick shifted into a run, feet pelting on the ground as he drew his sword and readied himself to leap into the fountain room.

Clark moved fast — no time for delay. He shot a long sweep of his laser eyes and watched as the large owl statue split in half and tumbled over to block the talons path. He would worry about Dick later, for now, Jason needed his help.

Clark sped forward. “Jay, are you okay?” He knelt beside Jason and rolled him over onto his back. A knife was embedded into his shoulder and another into his leg. Blood trailed over half of his face from a nasty looking gouge in his head. Under all the red, Clark could see that he was deathly pale.

“Jay —Jason, come on stay with me!” Clark begged.

Eyes fluttered open blearily and then closed again.

Clark looked through his skull. There was massive head trauma, a concussion for sure and possibly worse if he didn’t get the man to a hospital soon. Clark bundled Jason into his arms. “Don’t worry, buddy. You aren’t dying today. Not on my watch.”

* * *

“Tim, stop moving. You keep standing on my feet.”

Tim shuffles forward slightly so that he is no longer standing on Dick’s toes. “Sorry. My shoes are too big and I can't tell what I’m stepping on.”

Dick ducks his head to get a good look at Tim's feet. “That's because you're wearing _my_ shoes you silly goose.”

Alfred clears his throat is disapproval. “This is supposed to be a silent affair.” His eyes move to look at them although the butler doesn't move any other part of his body. “I suggest you also stop moving, lest you distract the artist.”

“Sorry,” Dick mumbles. He straightens up, rolling his shoulders back and resuming his earlier pose.

The group settles back into their bored silence. Alfred has commissioned a painter to paint a portrait of the family for Clark and Bruce’s tenth wedding anniversary. They are all wearing their best suits and are gathered in one of the larger drawing rooms at the front of the manor. Bruce and Clark sit on a loveseat in the middle while Alfred, Dick, Tim and Damian stand around them.

Clark holds himself rigidly. He has to admit, this is his first-ever ‘portrait’, and he’s not sure if he’s liking the whole ‘sit still in silence for a prolonged period of time’ aspect of things. The closest thing he can think of was his senior yearbook photos in school. But even then, he had only had to sit still for a couple of minutes.

An ornate clock ticks away on the mantelpiece and the ticking mixes with the scratching of charcoal on cotton as the artist hunches over the large canvas directly in front of them.

As if on cue, Clark’s stomach rumbles.

He blushes. “Sorry.” Clark can feel Bruce’s eyes on him even though he detects no movement out of the corner of his eye.

“I thought you said you ate lunch,” Bruce says.

Clark attempts to speak without moving his mouth too much.“I was about to, but then I had that _thing_ come up, remember?” ‘That thing’ being an apartment fire in Metropolis that he had had to rush over to. By the time he had gotten everyone to safety and put the flames out, the artist had already arrived at the manor. Unfortunately, Clark’s lunch had become forgotten on the kitchen table.

Bruce shifts from where he is sitting beside Clark so that he can see the other man’s face. Incidentally, he moves too much because he gets an annoyed click of the tongue from the artist and a sharp look from Alfred. Bruce sighs and turns back toward the artist. “How much longer?”

The artist continues to sketch their outlines in charcoal. Clark wants to cry at the thought that he hasn't even begun painting them yet. The artist, a French man with bushy eyebrows and a thin face, gives Bruce a passive look. “You cannot expect me to rush the art, Mr Wayne. Each line must be carefully placed, each stroke must be —”

The door crashes open with a bang.

“Sorry, I’m late. I didn't want to come,” Jason says as he saunters in. He pauses for a moment, taking in the unimpressed faces, and then claps his hands together. “So where should I stand?”

The artist pushes up from his stool. “You did not warn me there would be another!” he protests to Bruce.

Bruce puts his hands up in innocence. “I didn't know he was coming.”

“I told you I was coming!” Jason says.

Bruce gives Jason a confused look. “No, you didn't?” he says, but it comes out as a question.

Jason’s eyes flick to the side in thought and then return a moment later to Bruce’s face. “Okay, you’ve got me there. I may have forgotten to text you back, but you could have guessed I'd be here.”

Damian raises a dark eyebrow. “The session started over two hours ago. How were we to know that you would be in attendance if you are so late?”

“Plus your participation in family gatherings is spotty at best, Jay. When you don’t text back it’s a coin toss on whether you will turn up or not,” Dick says. Bruce hums in agreement.

Jason flings an arm out at the family butler. “I _always_ come when Alfred is the one to invite me!”

Tim asks, “So we are supposed to piece together all these clues to find out if you are coming or not?”

Jason grins and crosses his arms. “I don't know. _You’re_ the detectives.”

“Jason!” Bruce chastises. His eyes slowly drag over to where the artist is angrily sorting through his supplies for more drawing materials.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Sorry detective. Singular.” He waves his hand dismissively at Dick. “I was clearly talking to officer Grayson of the BPD.”

Clark watches multiple mouths open to continue the squabble. He shakes his head and raises his voice slightly above the others. “It doesn't matter. He’s here now so we need to find a space for him.”

Alfred cleared his throat. “Master Jason may stand beside me.” He shuffles over and makes an opening between him and Damian.

Dick and Tim both grimace as Jason steps on their toes in an effort to get to his spot. “Thanks, Alfie. I always knew I could count on you.” He settles into a relaxed stance and winks at the artist from across the room. “Do your thing, dude.”

The artist, who up until this point was still grumbling about Jason’s arrival, went red in the face. “Monsieur I can assure you that I am no. . .” His face twisted, almost disgusted at the word. “. . . _Dude.”_ His eyes flicked between Bruce and Alfred’s, clearly the two people he deemed in charge of the household. “I am concerned about finishing this project on time. With an extra person that will surely cost an extra. . . _”_ He trailed off at a glare from the youngest member of the family.

Damian tuts in disapproval. “My dog requires that I feed it in less than an hour. I suggest you return to the work we are paying you to do, lest I do it myself.”

“But —”

“ _Now_ ,” Damian says sternly.

The artist sits back down on his stool and starts sketching again. Clark risks a glance at Bruce and sees a proud tilt to his lips. He settles back further into the loveseat. It’s an old piece of furniture, possibly old enough that it was placed in this drawing-room long before Bruce’s parents came to be. The legs are ornate wood that are varnished to create a rich finish, and the fabric is a beautiful blend of blue and green thread that swirls in on itself. However, there is one caveat: it's harder than a rock encased in concrete. Clark thanks Rao that he has muscles of steel, but he knows he is going to spend the rest of the night giving Bruce a back massage. Which, now that he thinks of it, doesn’t sound bad at all.

They descend back into the monotonous silence for a few minutes before the sound of Tim’s fidgeting finally gets to Clark. “What’s wrong?” he asks as he tilts his head to the side so he can see Tim out of the corner of his eye.

“My suit is itchy. I think I’m allergic to whatever the dry cleaners used.” Tim risks loosening his tie slightly. “How come Jason doesn't have to wear a suit?”

All eyes turn to Jason. True enough, he is in his usual wear of jeans and a leather jacket, rather than the black-tie affair that the portrait painting had called for. Jason shrugs, “What? I just didn't feel like getting all dolled up.”

“I am not surprised you did not put any effort into not looking shabby,” Damian says.

“Shut up, brat. I’m not surprised that you look like your usual haughty self in that suit,” Jason retorts.

“Boys,” Bruce says tiredly. “Can’t you just stay quiet for a little while longer? Or are you going to insist on arguing for the rest of the day?” he chides.

The same scolded look passes over Jason and Damian’s faces.

Bruce waits a moment, making sure they stay quiet, before he speaks again, “I’m sure the kind artist can just paint a suit onto Jason, right?”

The Frenchman gives Bruce a scandalised look. “You wish me to just paint different clothes on to him?” he splutters. “Why do I not just change the entire painting, eh? In fact, I can just get my camera out and take a picture. That is what you people want, yes? A quick picture with no appreciation for the art!”

Dick tilts his head. “Why can't you just take a picture? Surely that would be better to work off rather than making us stand here for hours.”

“A photograph!” the artist gasps in horror as he says it. As if the suggestion itself is cursed. He grips the front of his shirt directly over his heart. “Where is the feeling? How am I to feel the energy in the art if I am not here with you to paint it myself?!”

Clark wants to sink down into the seat and let it take him. Clearly, this guy takes his painting way too seriously to be dealing with people like the Waynes. “How much more do you have to do today?”

“You would rush me?”

Damian crosses his arms over his chest in one of the most unimpressed looks Clark has ever seen. “If _I_ were the one that was commissioned to paint this portrait, I would no doubt be finished by now.”

The artist stares down the child as if he is his mortal enemy. He glances down at his canvas. “I have completed the outline.”

Clark sees the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. “Great!” He springs out of the chair. “I think that’s a great point to call it a day. What do you think, folks?”

He’s given a litany of relieved sighs and enthusiastic agreements in return as the family stretches out their sore muscles. Bruce stands up beside him and mouths a silent ‘thank you’, before turning to the artist and shaking his hand. “Thank you for coming today. Hopefully tomorrow will go a bit smoother.”

The artist returns the handshake and gives Bruce a tight smile. “Yes, Mr Wayne. I am praying tomorrow will be a better day.” He packs up his equipment as fast as humanly possible and bustles out the door.

Bruce drops his demeanour and slumps back onto the plush chair. “Well, that was a fuckin —”

“Bruce! Language!” Clark admonishes. “Not in front of the —”

“The children. Yes, yes, I know.” Bruce waves a hand. “After an hour or so of that, I can't find it in me to care, my darling.”

Clark rolls his eyes at the pet name and pulls Bruce up and off of the loveseat and into his arms. “Well, he’s gone now and we have the rest of the night to relax.”

Bruce wraps his arms around him. “Oh really?”

Tim makes a sickening sound while Dick laughs. “I don’t know what is worse. You two being all lovey-dovey, or that guy making us stand still for two hours straight.”

“Where’d you even find the guy, Alfie?” Jason asks.

Alfred sighs. “He came recommended from an old friend. I must say his art is rather good. His attitude however. . .”

“Is unbecoming,” Damian finishes.

Clark’s stomach rumbles again. Bruce twists his wrist to look at his watch. “We should all probably get something to eat. It’s nearly dinner time.”

Alfred looks at his watch. “It seems I do not have enough time to prepare a full meal.”

Dick puts a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Alfred. We are all tired after that. Let’s just get take out.”

“Where do you want to go?” Bruce asks out in the open like a fool.

He is immediately bombarded with multiple different answers.

“Pizza.”

“McDonalds.”

“Chinese.”

“Indian.”

Damian looks at Tim. “The last time we got a take out we ordered pizza. We cannot get it two times in a row.”

“The last time we got pizza was months ago!” Tim protests.

Dick tries to work his suggestion into the conversation in an attempt to convince the others. “We haven’t had Indian in ages.”

Before another argument starts, Clark speaks up. “Alfred, where would you like to go?”

“I do not mind either way,” The butler replies neutrally.

“Bruce? What about you?”

Bruce takes a moment to answer. “I’m in the mood for Asian food.”

Jason fist-pumps the air. “Yes!”

Bruce looks at Clark. “Maybe. . . someone could go to the Asian cuisine place in Metropolis that’s really good?”

Clark smiles at his husband and draws him in further to himself. “So in other words, me?”

Bruce leans up and kisses him on the cheek. “You are the fastest. And it’s your fault for getting me hooked on Chow Queen’s teriyaki chicken. If you hadn't fed it to me on dates for years I would never have known how good it was.”

“That’s fair, I suppose.” Clark kisses Bruce on the forehead and steps away. “Right everyone, phone your orders in while I’m flying over the bay, and I’ll pick it up when I get there.”

“Sure thing, big blue,” Dick says.

It’s mostly dark by the time Clark makes his way outside and into the air. He takes it easy, a slow flight though the cloud cover and over the bay to Metropolis to give the restaurant time to make their order. Ten minutes there, and then ten minutes back is all it takes for Clark to make back into the cosy warmth of Wayne manor with a near feast of food tightly packed into the bags in his arms.

He bustles into the kitchen, chin hooked under the tower of food containers, and places them carefully on the kitchen table. Clark tilts his head and listens to the heartbeats in the house, they are clustered together, in the lounge with the eighty-inch flatscreen TV if he had to guess. Suddenly the heartbeats quicken and he hears a few horrified yells echo down the hallways of the manor.

In an instant, Clark arrives on the scene in a burst of speed. He doesn't know what he expects. Intruders? Injuries? An attack of some sort?

Instead, he finds the family in various states of distress as they sit with their eyes glued to the TV. Jason is grinning like a mad man, Dick is partially hidden under a throw blanket, and Tim is pale and looks vaguely sickly as he watches the scenario unfold on the screen. Bruce has Damian pressed to his side and is covering the boy’s eyes with one hand as he watches with his mouth hanging open in shock. Alfred is the only one not watching the TV, instead, he politely averts his eyes.

“What’s happening?” Clark asks in bewilderment.

Jason waves him out of the way. “Clark! Get your ass out of the way! We are missing the best part.”

Clark dutifully moves so that he no longer obstructs the view of the screen.

Tim makes a choked off sound. “I don't know if I want to see any more. I think I've seen enough for one day.”

Damian makes an annoyed sound from where he’s pressed to Bruce’s side. “Father, I believe I can watch. Surely I have seen enough on patrol that whatever it is will not affect me.”

Bruce shakes his head. “Trust me, Damian, you have never seen this.”

Clark watches the show as it interviews a man and a woman. It seems like a normal enough reality TV show. A bland couple in an equally as bland suburban house. What could have gotten everyone so worked up? “What is this?” he asks.

Jason flashes him an amused smile. “Only the single most entertaining ever episode of ‘My Strange Addiction’.”

“And the weirdest episode,” Dick adds.

The husband appears on the screen with the name tag ‘Mike’. “My initial reaction was ‘my God that’s disgusting', but then I tried it,” he says cryptically. “And now I’m addicted to coffee enemas.”

Clark feels his mouth open as he stares at the screen in slack-jawed shock. He turns to find Jason laughing so hard that his belly heaves with each breath, and Bruce now covering both Damian’s eyes _and_ ears with his hands.

Tim shakes his head. “Why the hell would anyone ever waste coffee like that?”

Mike’s wife, the woman who apparently got him into the enemas, if the show is to be believed, comes back on the screen. “I have about four a day.”

At this point, Dick has let go of his horror and started laughing. “Four! These people are literally brewing four buckets worth of coffee every day just so they can shove it up their ass?!” he says between gasping laughter.

Bruce looks at them all with wide eyes. “I mean, I get loving coffee. . . but I don't love it _that_ much.” He holds onto his serious expression for a few seconds longer before, he too, bursts into laughter.

All of them follow him into the laughing fit, including Damian who has wiggled his way out of Bruce’s protective grip so that he can see what is happening on TV. Clark laughs so hard he has to wipe a tear away from one of his eyes. He can’t believe he had rushed in thinking they were in danger, when in fact his family had just decided to watch a show about coffee enemas while he was gone.

Alfred clears his throat and stands from his armchair. His lips are tilted up in amusement, clearly enjoying seeing his family in such good spirits. “I presume you have returned with the meal, Master Kent?”

Clark lets the laughter in his throat fizzle out and takes a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s in the kitchen.”

Tim, the ever-hungry teen, is out of his seat and sprinting towards the kitchen before Clark can finish. The rest of their family follow like an avalanche leaving Clark, Bruce and Alfred in their wake.

“Need a hand?” Clark holds out a hand to Bruce who is still slumped on the plush sofa. At some point while Clark was gone, he must have changed out of the suit because he looks comfy, nestled amongst the pillows in a pair of black jogging bottoms and a grey sweatshirt that says ‘Gotham University’ on the front.

Bruce takes the hand and lets his husband easily pull him to his feet. He leans over Clark’s shoulder to speak to Alfred. “Stay here, I’ll bring your food in.” Alfred nods and picks up the TV remote so that he can finally change the channel off of the enema show.

Bruce loops his arm around Clark’s as they walk toward the kitchen. “Thanks for getting the food for us. Usually, I would come with you but I didn't know if I could have stuck sitting in a car after ruining my ass earlier on that rock of a chair.”

Clark’s eyes flick down to Bruce’s ass which is very nicely accentuated by the fabric of his trousers. A mischievous smile passes over it moments before he gives it a light slap.

Bruce yelps and gives him an aghast look. “ _Clark!_ Just because you have a super ass that can’t get sore from sitting on hundred-year-old padding, doesn't mean the rest of us do.” He reaches back and exaggerates rubbing at his cheek.

Clark bites his lip to stop himself from laughing anymore. “Sorry. I couldn't help myself.” He wraps an arm around Bruce’s waist and kisses him on the side of his head. “Later tonight, I promise to make sure your ass receives the best care.”

Bruce smirks at him. “You better.”

They enter the kitchen to find their children have descended on the food like a swarm of locusts. Pilfered food containers lay open and empty as they fill their plates, Damian balances on one of the chairs to reach into a high cupboard where they keep the big bowls, and Tim and Dick are kneeling on the floor using dish towels to wipe up a spilt bottle of cola that they had managed to knock over in the few minutes they were left unattended.

Bruce immediately runs over to Damian to catch him before he falls and brings the entire shelf of crockery down on himself, and Clark picks up an old cloth and kneels to assist the others.

“Sorry, Clark. We. . . uh. . . didn't mean to make such a mess,” Dick says with a wince.

Clark swipes the cloth over the liquid. “Don’t worry about it. Accidents happen.” He leans forward to whisper. “At least with most of the soda gone, Dami can’t drink too much and get hyper on sugar.”

Tim sniggers and stands as they finish cleaning up the mess. “True. Do you remember when he got his hands on a two-litre bottle of sprite? He practically started running around the manor like a crazy cat.”

Dick wrings up his cloth in the sink and then shakes it out with a quick snap. “To be fair, I’m pretty sure that was his first time encountering a fizzy drink.”

Tim follows Dick in wringing out his cloth and shaking it out. “Yeah well, I’m not dealing with that again.”

“That was the only bottle I bought, so I think we are safe tonight.” Clark wrings out his cloth and sets it on the sideboard.

“Aren’t you going to shake it out?” Tim asks.

Clark remembers all the ruined towels and cloths from his childhood when he had tried to help his mother with the laundry. “No, I can't, I’ll just destroy it.”

Dick, Tim and even Jason from across the room give him a look of confusion. “Destroy it?” Dick asks.

“Yeah, I was never able to go gentle enough to keep the fabric intact while also successfully shaking out the towel.”

Now Bruce and Damian, the latter clutching a colourful bowl in his arms, have wandered over to Clark’s side of the kitchen. “What on earth are you talking about?” Bruce asks.

Clark would have to show them what he means. He sighs and looks at his cloth, at least it isn't one of the good Irish linen ones that Alfred had ordered from overseas. “Right, I'm only going to do this once so watch carefully.”

His family crowd around him, eager to see what Superman will do. He grips the towel in two hands and flicks his wrists downward so that the fabric snaps out. In the blink of an eye, the individual threads that make up the towel move with so much speed and force that they completely unravel.

“You’re kidding,” Bruce says.

Clark walks over to the bin and drops the bunch of thread into it. “I’m really not.”

Jason, who is the only one that has actually made it to eating, swallows a fork full of noodles and says, “I’ve witnessed you use equipment and touch things that are way more delicate than that towel. How do you not crush everything you come into contact with if you can't even snap a towel without pulverising it?”

Tim nods. “Yeah, I've seen you pick up tiny spiders and bring them outside without crushing them.”

Clark shrugs. “I don't know. I guess it's my one weakness. Not including kryptonite.”

“And red sun energy,” Damian reminds him.

Dick’s stomach rumbles. “Okay. . . good to know Clark is one wrist snap away from destroying everything he touches. I would love to stick around and chat some more, but my food is calling.”

One by one, Clark watches his children remember the food is only metres away and smiles as they turn on their heels as a cohesive until and dart toward the kitchen table. Bruce hands him a plate and says, ”Remind me to never ask you to shake out my cape. It’s too expensive to have to replace it all the time.”

Clark chuckles and leads Bruce over to the table. “Trust me, if mine wasn’t Kryptonian fabric, I’m sure I would have accidentally ruined it years ago.”

Bruce peeks inside the bag and draws out a parcel of food. “Did you get Alfred’s sweet and sour?”

Jason balances his drink and two plates in his arms. “I got it. I’ll bring it down to him.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says as Jason disappears out the door.

He reaches his hand back into the bag. “Did you get my teriyaki chicken?”

Clark nods, “Yeah.”

“And the fried rice?”

“Yep.”

“And the —”

“Prawn crackers? Yes.” Clark reaches into the bag and pulls out the last few unopened boxes of food.

Bruce smiles and upends his food onto his plate. “In that case, I would say it is a job well done.” He leans over and gives Clark a lingering kiss before sliding a box onto the table between them. “Last box. Must be yours.”

Clark chases Bruce’s lips for a final kiss before accepting the parcel of food and opening it. “It is. Thank you.”

Bruce hums and moves over to the fridge to grab two beers. “You want one tonight?”

“Sure.” Clark catches it effortlessly as Bruce tosses it to him on his way out the door. He scrapes his food out onto a plate and flicks the cap off the beer with his thumb as he follows Bruce back down the hallway and into the lounge.

The lights have been dimmed, and in their absence, Alfred has set and lit a fire in the large fireplace. The TV is silent, paused at the opening sequence to a movie. Clark flops down onto the sofa beside Bruce and wraps an arm around him as he settles his plate into his lap. “What are we watching?”

Jason stabs his fork into his noodles and wraps it in a circle as if they are spaghetti. “I don't know. Timmy picked it.”

Damian glares at Jason as if he is a heathen and uses his chopsticks to pick up some of his chilli-beef. “It is some sort of scary movie, is it not, Dra —” He sees the look Clark gives him and finishes his sentence with, “Timothy?”

Dick chuckles. “I wouldn’t exactly call corpse bride a scary movie.”

Tim swallows a mouthful of food. “It’s a Halloween movie! Is everyone okay with that?”

They all nod and voice their agreement. Bruce turns to Clark. “Are you okay with watching it?”

Clark looks around at the room filled with the people he loves the most in life. The flames from the fire flicker over the room and cast it in a warm glow. He smiles at Bruce. “Yeah. I’m more than okay.”

Bruce smiles back. “Then that’s all that matters.”

* * *

The blue light from the screens of the batcomputer shone over the cave illuminating the two people huddled around an analysis table. Terry reached forward and realigned the piece of paper he was testing.

“See, if I shift it like that, the computer's new sensors can scan for evidence better,” he said brightly. The scanner made a low droning noise as it worked and moments later a sectioned display of the paper popped up on the computer screen. There were notes on the various compounds it had detected on the paper, as well as a zoomed-in set of fingerprints it had detected.

Clark smiled at the boy and ruffled his hair. “Good work, kiddo.”

Terry preened at the praise and hopped down from the stool so he could run over to the batcomputer. “Do you think Dad will let me run the prints in the database?”

Clark carefully lifted the paper and slid it back into its police evidence bag. Damian had allowed Terry to work on one of the police cold cases as a way to hone his investigative skills. “Best ask him first before you go any further with the evidence. I know he wouldn’t want you seeing some of the stuff in the database unsupervised.”

Terry pouted and crossed his colourful gauntlets over his bright red armour. “Why not? I’m big enough to see the cases on my own.”

Clark had to admit he was adorable in his robin armour, but after years of dealing with puppy eyes, they no longer worked their magic on him. “I’m just going on what Damian said to me. Now, where is he?”

Terry spun around in a circle in the too-large desk chair. “He’s getting changed out of the Batman armour.”

“I see.” Usually, it was hard to pry Damian out of the amour. He would come in from patrol and go to the labs or the computer to do more work. Or on days like this, he would train in it with Terry, but still, after training he would keep it on for a while. “How is he doing?” Clark asked.

Terry stopped spinning in the chair so he could kick his legs instead. “Okay, I guess. He’s sad about Uncle Jason.” He stopped kicking his legs. “But he’s gonna be alright, isn’t he?”

Clark took a deep breath. Jason was in a coma. He had been for the past week after the fight in the Court of Owls’ maze. It was hard on all of them seeing a man like Jason lying prone and still in a hospital bed, but ultimately there was nothing they could do but wait and hope that he would recover.

Clark walked over to Terry and put a hand on his shoulder. “Jason is a fighter. He’s going to do everything in his power to get back to us, I know he will.” Clark had to hope he would, the alternative wasn’t worth thinking about.

Heavy footsteps made their way up the metal stairs to the floor section the batcomputer resided on. Damian stepped up onto the platform dressed in dark slacks and a black turtleneck. Not for the first time Clark is stuck with the uncanny resemblance between Damian and Bruce. Bruce had been paler with blue eyes, but Damian had grown into the high cheekbones and arched eyebrows that were characteristic of a Wayne. Seeing Damian in a turtleneck with cowl hair was a stark reminder that he was nearing the same age that Bruce had been when he had gone missing.

“Hey, Dami.” Clark greeted.

Damian looked tired, he had dark rings under his eyes and Clark could tell that a deep exhaustion weighed on his shoulders. “Clark.” He nodded his head in greeting. “I need to speak with you.”

“What about?” Clark asked.

Damian motioned for Robin to get out of his chair. “Terry, give us a minute.”

The boy opened his mouth to retort but closed it again when Damian gave him a hard glare. “Fine,” he sighed.

They watched the boy vault over the top-level railing and land perfectly on the training platform three stories down. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing him do that,” Clark said.

Damian grunted and lowered himself heavily into a desk chair. “I raised him and sometimes he still gets me when he does things like that.” He rubbed at his eyes.

Terry looked like any normal child, but the talon serum that ran through his blood gave him superhuman abilities. Even though he was smaller, nowadays he was on par with the other talons and could match them in both speed and strength. His regenerative abilities took longer to kick in for major wounds, but fall damage was near non-existent for the energetic boy. Which was a boon to both Clark and Damian since Terry seemed so fond of jumping from heights.

Clark took a seat at one of the side scanners and dragged it over to sit beside Damian. “You look tired.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “I think I’m about twenty years too old for you to be mother henning me like this.”

Clark looked at him seriously. “What’s on your mind?”

Damian rolled his shoulders and sat up. “Remember I told you about a compound called electrum that was one of the main components in the talon serum?”

Clark thought back to Damian revealing the tests he had done on the talon that had been Dick’s relative. “Yes, I think so.”

“Well, I wanted to run more tests but the body we had was unusable. I had kept it in cryostasis and when I went to retrieve it, it had completely broken down.”

“I’ve seen that reaction to the cold before. When I used my freeze breath on a talon it completely shattered into pieces.” Clark said.

Damian nodded, thinking. “So far, the two known killing methods for killing talons are extreme cold or beheading. Although, we cannot rule out that if left long enough, the beheaded talon will regenerate.”

Damian spread his hand over the touch screen keyboard and pulled up a photo of a beheaded talon. Clark leaned forward in his seat. “Is that Dick’s great grandfather?”

Damian shook his head. “No. This is the talon you recently recovered from the maze.” He clenched his teeth together slightly. “The one that Jason killed before he succumbed to his head injury.”

Clark nodded in understanding. “Won’t it just degrade like the other one?”

“Possibly. I currently have an altered version of the freezing fluid that Mr Freeze uses running through its veins. I am hoping that will slow down its regeneration if it actually can come back from a beheading, while also maintaining the structural integrity of its cell structure by keeping the electrum stable.” Damian said.

He clicked on a folder which opened to display multiple diagrams of chemical structures. “I isolated the electrum in its blood and compared it to the primary compound in Terry’s blood.” Damian pointed to two similar chemicals that differed only by a long chain of carbons with various hydroxyl, ether and carboxyl groups attached to it.

Clark scratched at his temple. “I’m going to be honest, Dami. I flunked chemistry in school.”

“Sorry. I got carried away. The long chain is the only difference between the electrum in the old talon serum and the new serum in Terry’s blood.” He zoomed in on the screen to show a more detailed look at the molecule. “The extra chain belongs to the old electrum, some of the same molecule patterns can be found in various hallucinogens across the globe.”

Clark looked to Damian. He looked tense, almost on the edge of his seat as he brought up more comparison images on the screen. Clark bit the inside of his mouth in thought. “Terry’s serum doesn’t have the hallucinogen part and he is completely normal other than his advanced abilities. So, the electrum itself could be one of the ways the Court is able to brainwash the adult talons so easily.”

Damian nodded. “It would have been administered slowly over an extended amount of time. Then, when enough had accumulated within the body, it would alter the thought pattern of their mind and make it malleable enough to mould to the Court of Owls liking.”

Clark sat back in his chair. He had already run through the events of the maze with Damian, including the photo room and the room with the fountain. “The fountain in the maze. Some of the people must have been in there for weeks and it was the only source of water I could see.

“All they would have had to do is spike it with electrum and the victims would poison themselves,” Damian said darkly.

“What does this mean? If we somehow neutralise the brainwashing effect of the electrum can we get Bruce and Dick back?”

Damian was silent for a moment before he got out of his seat and strode over to the vault embedded into the wall of the cave. He punched in the access code and carefully lifted out a metal case.

Clark floated over to him. “What is it?”

“A second chance.” Damian slid the lid open and a cold mist bellowed out. Inside were two slim, glass darts each filled with an orange liquid. They were surrounded by cooling tubes and slightly frosted over with ice. “I created a formula that should negate the effects of the electrum while assuring its continued stability within a talon’s body.”

Clark stared down at the unassuming darts. For the first time in years, they were finally one step closer to saving Dick and Bruce. “In other words, these can get them back?”

Damian closed the box. “According to my tests, yes they can. However, there is a slight catch.”

“What?” Clark asked.

“I had to create the formula from Terry’s blood and the beheaded talon’s. The compounds I used were hard to extract and any more will harm Terry. I refuse to put him in danger like that. These two vials are all we have.”

Clark swallowed. That meant every moment counted. They couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. “I understand.”

The batcomputer flared to life, its screen changing to display a multitude of security camera feeds dotted around the manor grounds. Damian placed the case back in its vault. “Terrence is here.” He walked over the railing and shouted down to Terry. “Change out of your suit into your normal clothes. We are going up to the house.”

A small voice shouted back, “But uncle Terrence has seen me in my Robin costume loads of times. Can’t I just wear it up to the manor this once?”

Damian turned and started walking up to the batcomputer. “Rules are rules. No costumes in the manor. Now quickly or you’ll miss him,” he shouted back.

After moving back to Gotham, Damian had spent a small fortune on an upgraded security system for Wayne manor— one that even an army of talons would have trouble getting through. When Terry had come into the picture, he had bulked it up even further, almost excessively with all sorts of sensors and traps that would incapacitate an intruder. Clark couldn’t blame him, with the talons knowing the majority of the old security codes it was no wonder Damian was paranoid. The last time the talons had broken into his home they had killed Alfred, the time before that they had taken Bruce. Clark knew Damian wouldn’t hold anything back in his efforts to keep Terry out of their grasp.

Damian clicked a button that opened the high-security front gates and allowed a sleek town car through. “Perhaps you could be of assistance, Clark.”

Clark walked up beside him and watched as the car winded its way up through the driveway. The camera feeds changed to follow the car as it made its way up the long stretch of driveway, then around the bend past the old cowshed, and then finally as it pulled up outside the manor.“What with?”

“With so much talon activity and prominent members of Gotham society going missing, I feel that it is prudent that, as CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Terrence lay low for a while.” Damian pursed his lips slightly in annoyance. “He disagrees. I have called him here to convince him otherwise.”

“Well, I suppose I can come up and talk to him with you.” Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Although I don’t really know him as well as you do.”

In the years Terrence had been in their lives, Clark had only met him a handful of times. They were civil with each other but had nowhere near the relationship that Damian or Jason had developed with him.

Terrence provided information and equipment to Jason and Damian using his privilege as CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Damian was particularly close to him as he met with him at least once a week to discuss the company, and he had given the man title of CEO using the company shares he had inherited from Bruce.

“He is a stubborn fool that believes he is invincible.” Damian paused. “Sometimes he reminds me of Father.”

There was a clatter from below as Terry raced up the cave entrance stairs at inhuman speed, taking steps three at a time and leaping through the door at the top. “Wait for us, Terry!” Damian called.

Clark and Damian followed after him, albeit at a much slower pace. Thankfully Clark had come down to the cave in a chequered shirt and jeans rather than his Superman suit, so he didn’t have to change clothes. They entered the main mansion via the entrance hidden behind the grandfather clock, and the trio made their way to the kitchen where they knew Terrence would be waiting for them.

“Little Rabbit!” Terrence said jovially as Terry practically bounced into his arms for a hug.

“Uncle Terrence!” Terry said with happiness in his voice. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Terrence stepped out of the hug and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Oh, you know, boring adult business and all that. If I told you it would just send you to sleep. How have you been, Little Rabbit?”

Terry’s eyes lit up. “Really good! Dad’s letting me analyse evidence by myself,” he said as he jutted his chin up proudly.

Terrence looked up at Damian for confirmation. “Is that so?”

Damian nodded from the doorway and stepped further into the kitchen. “He is honing his detective skills.”

Terrence sat down at the kitchen bench and motioned for Terry to sit beside him. “I guess you’ll be leaving Robin behind soon to become Batman at the rate you’re learning. I better see about making a cowl that will fit your little head.” He winked at the boy to a delighted giggle.

Clark stepped into the room from where he had been lingering in the hallway. “Terrence.” He nodded in greeting.

“Clark.” Terrence’s dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“I do live here. . . sometimes.” Clark usually distributed his time equally between the manor and the fortress, but with Jason being in a coma he had felt it would be better to stay in Gotham for the time being.

“Oh. Well, it’s good to see you.” Terrence said.

Terrence looked much the same as he had the last time Clark had seen him. His skin was smooth with barely a hint of wrinkles, though that wasn’t strange since Clark had witnessed the plastic surgery skills one could buy with the type of money a CEO earns. The only thing that looked different was the smattering of silver at each temple, although when Clark sniffed the air, he could smell the tale-tale scent of hair dye. Obviously, the man had tried to cover them up at some point and had failed.

“Same to you, it’s been a while. How have you been?” Clark’s midwestern sensibilities forced him to ask, even if he did find talking to the man an awkward experience.

Terrence was a charismatic person and seemed to be well-liked in his social circles, but Clark couldn’t make himself like the man no matter how guilty he felt about it. Maybe it was the fact that he had taken over Bruce’s job at Wayne Enterprises, or maybe it was because he had filled a role in Damian’s life that Clark hadn’t been able to, but jealousy burned low in his belly whenever Damian, Jason or even Terry, fondly mentioned Terrence.

Clark should have been happy that such a good man like Terrence had stepped in to help when he had, he should be grateful that Terrence was a support column that Damian could lean on in times of need, or a confidant that he could trust with his company. But Clark couldn’t let the feeling of unease slide— all the areas in life that Terrence filled were the empty spaces that Bruce had left behind.

Logically, Clark knew Damian would never forget his father, but it still hurt to be reminded that Bruce had missed so much of his own son’s life. Damian had even named Terry after Terrence for Rao’s sake.

“I’ve been great! Busy as always I’m afraid but when you run a Fortune 500 company that can hardly be helped.” He leaned over to Terry and whispered in his ear, “Why don’t you climb up into that cupboard and get out the cookie jar that Damian likes to hide.”

Terry grinned and scrambled to carry out the request.

Terrence looked at Clark. “And how have you been lately? I know things must be hard without Jason.”

Clark sat down at the long table beside Damian. “That’s why I’m in Gotham at the moment. I’ve been keeping an eye out for him while he’s at the hospital in case the Court of Owls tries anything.”

Terry made a triumphant sound and jumped off the counter to place the cookie jar on the table. Terrence reached in and started chewing on one of the chocolate chip cookies. He looked at Damian. “You know all you would just have to say the word and I would have him moved to my private care facility.”

Clark shook his head. “No. We already looked into moving him but he needs round the clock medical care with access to a surgery theatre in case there are more complications with the head wound.”

“Well I could —“

“No.” Damian cut him off. “Jason stays where he is. I have already personally added security to the hospital.” He reached over to the cookie jar and shut the lid before Terrence could reach for another. “This isn’t why I called you here.”

Terrence leaned back and brushed crumbs from his coat onto the floor. “Okay. Why am I here then?”

Damian levelled a glare at him. “You need to go to a safe house.”

Terrence rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

Damian sighed. “You are a prime target for the Court. They could strike at any moment. You need to —”

“No!” Terrence raised his voice and Terry stiffened where he still stood at the end of the table. “I won’t be seen to hide away in some safe haven while Gotham is attacked.”

Clark reached over and guided Terry to sit beside him. Clark’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Lower your voice please.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.” The man had the sense to look abashed under Clark’s harsh gaze.

Clark placed his arm around Terry’s small frame. “This is no joke, Terrence. The Court shows no mercy. If they come after you it would mean certain death.”

Damian leaned forward. “Please, just go to the safe house. You can run Wayne Enterprises without going to the office.”

Terrence shook his head and stood up. “No. I can’t. The gala is in a week. It can’t be cancelled, too much work has gone into the preparations. The stakes are too high, we need the unveiling gala to bolster the investors for next quarter and to appease the shareholders.”

Damian fisted his hand on the table. “But —”

“No,” Terrence said firmly. He walked around the table and headed for the kitchen door. “My decision is final. The gala will go ahead as planned.”

* * *

Damian sits upfront with Bruce. He leans over in his seat, eyes trained on every move his father makes, as the man guides the jet down into the open stretch of snow and ice beside the fortress. The jet is marginally bigger than the two people batwing Batman usually favours, but Clark, Dick and Tim manage to squeeze onto the benches that line the back of the plane.

“Are we there yet?” Dick asks as the jet descends toward the icy ground.

Clark peeks out through the metal walls of the jet. “Nearly.”

Tim stretches his arms and legs from his seated position and yawns. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the Fortress of Solitude being so far away.”

Damian swivels his seat just as the mechanical sound of the landing gear unfolding breaks out over the dinge of the engines. “I happen to think this fortress is in a perfect tactical position. It is hundreds of miles from any human civilisation, it blends in with its surroundings, and the harsh conditions of the arctic tundra mean any expedition looking for it will likely die in the cold.”

Clark thinks that’s as close to a compliment as he’s ever going to get from Damian. “I’m glad you like it. Although I didn’t have a say in its location. The rocket that held the growth crystals was programmed by my biological father to find the best place for them.”

Dick leans out of his seat so he’s in both of their lines of sight. He holds up a finger as if he is about to impart great knowledge. “Not to mention you couldn’t call it the ‘Fortress of _Solitude_ ’ if it wasn't way out here.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Wow, Dick. You’re so smart, I can’t believe none of us thought of that.”

Even though Tim’s voice dripped thick with sarcasm, Dick took it in his stride and turned it back on him. “No worries, Timmy. It’s all in a day's work for Detective Grayson.”

As a testament to Bruce’s piloting skills, the jet barely jostles as it sets down on the ice. “Boys, settle down. Clark and I expect the best behaviour today.”

Dick undoes his seatbelt as the doors to the plane unfold and exposes its passengers to the frigid air. “We are _always_ on our best behaviour, B.”

Tim is the second out of his seat and he makes his way down the ramp as the others follow. “Me and Dick have been here like fifty times and everything has been fine.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn't call accidentally opening the phantom zone portal and nearly unleashing Zod, ‘fine’.”

“One time,” Dick says.

“The time you broke the priceless artefact of the Jadoon?” Bruce counters.

“And the time you both lost the time stone. Kelex still hasn’t found it, and he’s been looking for it for five years,” Clark adds.

“I swear I just touched it and it disappeared!” Tim protests.

Dick puts his hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. There may have been a few incidents. But overall I think we did pretty good.”

They reach the impenetrable doors of the fortress, the group stops, Clark stepping forward as a beam of white light scans him. “Welcome back, Kal-El,” a cheery voice chirps as the doors open soundlessly.

Just inside the doors to the grand entrance, is a squat robot that floats at eye level above the ground. The family walks inside out of the cold and Clark greets the robot. “Hello, Kelex. How have you been?”

“I have been well, Kal-El. I can report no environmental or diagnostic changes to the fortress or its inhabitants since your last visit.”

Clark rubs his hands together as the doors close, sealing them all inside. “That’s good to hear. Good job, Kelex.”

Coloured lights blink as the robot bobs up and down slightly in praise. “Thank you, Kal-El.”

Bruce turns his gaze onto his three children. “There may have been. . . _accidents_ in the past, but this is Damian’s first time here and I want you all to make sure you don’t touch anything dangerous. Understood?”

Dick grins and uses his arms to pull Tim and Damian to his side. “We will be model visitors, right boys?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Yep. Sure. No trouble from me.”

Damian wriggles out of Dick’s grip and smooths a crinkle out of his clothes. “Father knows he will have no trouble from me. He was _clearly_ addressing you two miscreants instead of me.”

Bruce’s face is carefully blank. Clark flashes him an amused smile and moves forward to lay both hands on Damian’s shoulders. “I’m sure you will be well behaved today.”

The boy nods in approval at Clark’s words. “Thank you, Clark. I am glad someone is able to recognise the truth to my words.”

Tim snorts and is cut off by Dick smacking him on the back. “You choking there, Tim?”

Tim starts fake coughing into his hand. “Yeah,” _cough._ “On his bullshit,” _cough._

Kelex floats down to Damian’s eye level. “Greetings, human youngling.”

Clark gestured his hand from the boy to the robot. “Damian, this is Kelex. Kelex, this is Damian.”

“You know our other boys, this is our youngest. Please give him level three access to the fortress and its facilities,” Bruce asks.

Kelex chirps happily. “Level three access has been granted. Welcome to the Fortress of Solitude, Damian Wayne.”

Damian dips his head formally. “Thank you.”

Dick walks deeper into the fortress but stops as he reaches the first branch in the hallway. “Where to first, little D? I feel like we should let you pick since it’s your first time.”

Tim slides up beside Damian. “The room where Clark keeps all the gifts given to Superman is pretty cool.”

Dick chimes in, “So is the weapons room. It’s full of alien tech and supervillain gadgets.”

Damian bites the inside of his cheek. “Father, where would you recommend?”

Bruce puts a reassuring hand on his youngest son’s shoulder. “Pick wherever you want to go. There isn't a wrong answer. We’ll go wherever you choose.”

Damian’s face flickers before going blank. “Kent, you mentioned you housed animals of some sort here?” The boy sounds tentative as he talks. Almost as if he’s afraid to ask.

Had the Al Ghuls done this to him? Taken him to new places and expected him to make the right decisions and ask the right questions to pass their little tests? Clark wants him to have fun today. That’s why they brought him here in the first place. He nods, “I sure do. I keep a menagerie of alien creatures that need a home. Most of them landed on Earth by accident, it was too dangerous to let them roam free, so I took them in.”

Damian rolls his shoulders back. “I wish to see them.”

“Kelex, I think everyone is still a little cold, so why don’t you make us some hot chocolate while we tour the animal enclosures?” Clark says.

“Of course, Kal-El.” The robot lights up and speeds down the hallway.

“Perfect!” Dick exclaims. He starts down the left corridor, leading the way to the wing of the fortress that Superman had dedicated to the animals. Everyone else follows, happy to bypass rooms of interest so that Damian can get straight to the animals.

Clark finds it vaguely adorable in a weird kind of way. Damian projects such a hard, uncaring shell around himself, but in reality, he is a sweet boy that loves animals. This was his first time at the fortress, but Clark had brought him to the Kent farm enough to know how nurturing Damian really is. The boy had fawned over the lambs and had taken every opportunity to help around the farm.

If that was anything to go by, Clark was sure his strange zoo would be a hit.

“What are those?” Damian rushes over to a glass panel as they begin to enter the main section of rooms that house the alien creatures.

Inside is a raised platform atop which rests a slab of brick red stone. Numerous orange tubeworms are wriggling about and moving around the stone with their little green tentacles.

“Those are aura worms. They came to Earth in search of emotion,” Tim answers.

A knowing grin spread across Dick’s face. “Yeah, _emotion.”_

Bruce presses his lips together. “They are in their seventh generation. Every time they mate, they die and turn to ash. Eventually the ash reforms into the worms.”

Tim’s lips lifted in a smirk. “The thing is, they need to be exposed to extreme emotions of love to mate.”

Tim matches Dick’s grin.

Clark can feel his ears turn pink.

Dick starts to laugh. “Basically, Bruce and Clark were so in love with each other, and they created so much raw energy, that it acted as a homing beacon for the worms. It was like a deep space booty call.”

Tim—who had valiantly been trying to hold it in—bursts into laughter.

“Perhaps we should move on to the next enclosure,” Clark suggests hastily.

“Good idea.” Bruce agrees. He grabs Damian and practically drags him away from the worms, even as Tim and Dick’s heaving laughter follows them.

They manage to scoot Damian past the next few enclosures, and suitably away from the worms, before the boy digs his heels against the ground and brings them to a stop. “What’s in there?”

There are enclosures all around them, a pig-like animal with spines along its back, a gooey mess of bioluminescent slime, there’s even a large pen holding something that looks close to a dodo, but Damian points at a pair of white doors.

Bruce puts his hand on a crystal scanner beside the reinforced doors. “Let’s go find out.”

Damian and his parents walk inside the room. It’s dark, each of the large walls painted in a deep black that absorbs all light. Miniature light crystals are inset into the black ceiling to make it look like the glittering night sky. In the middle is a pit with a railing around it, and directly above it is a large machine with a shutter pointing towards the floor.

Clark moves forward toward the railing and beckons Bruce and Damian over to have a look. Damian puts both hands on the metal handrail and goes up onto his tiptoes to see over.

Bruce raises his eyes at the writhing mess of limbs at the bottom of the pit. “A new addition?”

“Yes.” Clark nods.

Damian’s eyes practically widen to the size of saucers as he gazes at the creature. It is a rich burgundy colour, with multiple tentacles that span at least ten metres across. “What is it?”

“A baby sun eater.” Clark reaches a hand out and a thick tentacle reaches up to curl around it. “I found it adrift near Jupiter. It was too weak to feed off any of the nearest stars, so I brought it here.”

The doors whoosh open and Tim and Dick saunter in. They are no longer laughing, but the red blush of joviality still sits high on their cheekbones. “Wow. That thing is massive,” Dick remarks.

Tim smirks. “That’s what she sai —”

Damian glares at them. “ _Not_ in front of the baby.”

Tim looks at the gigantic creature and raises an eyebrow. “ _That’s_ the baby?!”

“Yes.” Damian manages to reach a hand over the railing and the sun eater reaches up to hold it with a tentacle. “It is a baby sun eater that Superman has rescued.”

Bruce walks around the pit taking in the entirety of the enclosure. “How big will it get?” he asks.

Clark can tell Bruce is worried. No doubt a million different contingencies and plans on how to contain a rogue sun eater are running through his mind. “I’m not sure yet. Big enough to eat a star at least,” he replies.

Clark can see the moment the part of Tim’s mind that is good at analysing, takes over from the side that was cracking jokes. “I’m assuming it will eventually grow bigger at some point. How do you feed it?” Tim asks.

He takes his hand back from the baby and uses it to tap at a smooth panel of crystal. There is the sharp sound of the shutter sliding open and the drone of heavy machinery activating. “I installed a powerful sun lamp for it to snack on until it gets strong enough to leave the fortress.” Clark can see worried lines appear on Bruce’s face so he walks over to him and rubs a hand up his arm. “Don’t worry, once it’s big enough to go out on its own, I'll take it far from any inhabited solar system.”

Bruce relaxes. “Good. I can help you search for a suitable sun later if you’d like.”

Clark smiles. “I’d like that very much.” He hears the sound of paws hitting the floor at great speed before he sees him. “Damian, there is someone that helps guard the fortress with Kelex. I think he’s caught your scent.”

“Krypto!” Tim exclaims as the white dog launches itself at him from the open double doors. The excited dog licks his face and happily accepts petting from Dick and Tim.

He barks in greeting and turns to put his paws on Bruce’s chest so he can lick at his face. “Yes, Krypto, I missed you too,” Bruce says while trying to dodge the dog’s wet tongue.

The dog gets down and then stops dead in his tracks when he sees Damian. Clark can sense what is about to happen. “Krypto, be gentle —”

Krypto springs forward and bowls the small boy over. His tail is wagging so fast it’s barely a blur as he licks at every inch of Damian’s face he can reach.

Clark sighs. “If you hadn’t already guessed, this is Krypto.”

Damian manages to push himself into a sitting position and pets the excited dog on the head. “Hello, Krypto. It is nice to meet you.”

The dog noses at his face and then licks his nose in greeting. Clark reaches forward and pulls the super dog backward allowing Damian to get to his feet. “Sorry, he sometimes gets over-excited when I bring new people over.”

Damian rights the creases in his clothes and looks at the flustered Clark. “No need to apologise. I will take it as flattery that he wanted to greet me that enthusiastically.”

Krypto makes a barking noise of approval and trots over to Dick to receive more petting. He floats into the air so that Dick can scratch behind his ears without having to bend down. “Maybe you could help us, Krypto. You know all the animals here, don’t you? This is Dami’s first time here, so maybe you can pick who we see next on our tour.”

The dog’s tail wags eagerly and he shoots out of the room in a blur. “Krypto!” Clark calls. “Only I can follow at that speed, you’re going to have to go slower.”

The white blur appears in front of them again. Krypto lowers himself to the floor and barks at them to follow. This time, they tag along without losing the canine as he weaves through the maze of crystalline hallways.

After a few minutes, the corridor widens and leads them down a long staircase into a wide cave. Waterfalls flow down from different heights into a small lake of water, creating a fine mist that creeps over the various small islands of glowing orange fungi.

Dick chuckles to himself. “Of course Krypto would bring us to Unagi.”

Clark crosses his arms and walks beside Bruce to the edge of the artificial lake. “Sometimes I think he likes her more than he likes me!”

Light pours in through a pyramid-shaped skylight that covers the middle portion of the cave’s roof. The rest of the cave is bathed in an orange glow from the bulbous mushrooms. Tim squats down beside a bunch of the fungi and strokes a finger over one. The moment the finger connects with it, it shoots backwards into a hole in the ground. “I see the targalian mushrooms are coming along nicely since I was last here.”

“Are. . . the mushrooms why Krypto brought us here?” a confused Damian asks.

A smile twitched on Bruce’s lips. “No. Not quite.” He held out a hand. “Come here.”

Damian moves forward, suspicion in every step, but he takes his father’s hand anyway and lets him lead him knee-height into the shallows. “What am I supposed to be doing?”

Bruce lets go of his hand and gently pushes Damian’s shoulders so that he looks dead ahead at the centre of the water. “Nothing. Just stay still, she’ll come to you.” The man moves back, hopping onto the shore with the others and leaving his son alone in the water.

Bruce and Clark share a knowing look of amusement as Bruce comes to stand beside him again.

“Nothing is happening,” Damian shouts from the water.

Dick and Tim manage to stifle their giggles before Damian catches on. Tim cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “You’re doing great!”

“Yeah, any minute now, little D!” Dick adds.

Damian scowls and whirls around. “There isn’t anything in the water is there? You are just having me stand here like a fool for your amusement.”

Behind him, the water ripples as something big stirs underneath its surface.

“Amusement? Yes. But there really is something in the water,” Tim says.

There is a mini tidal wave as a massive sea serpent breaks through the water. It rears upward, at least halfway to the tall ceiling, and spurts a jet stream of water right at Damian.

The boy is already drenched before he can react, he falls over into the water and comes up spluttering. “You all could have warned me.”

Tim and Dick are in stitches of laughter, their chests hitch with each breath, making them unable to talk.

Clark chuckles and moves forward to haul the soaking boy out of the water. “Sorry, kid. It’s a right of passage around here to get snuck up on by Unagi.”

The serpent in question rolled its head and preened at its well-laid prank. Bruce pats Damian on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, she’s gotten everyone else too.”

“Including you?” Damian questions.

Bruce runs a hand through the boy’s wet locks of hair. “Even me.”

Damian rolls he shoulders back and lifts his chin. “Then I am honoured to be a part of the family tradition.”

Dick and Tim manage to stumble over. “You know what else is a tradition?” Dick says. “Riding on her back.”

Damian looks at the serpent sceptically. She’s covered in dazzling green scales, and she’s long, even the part above water barely covers her true length. Her mouth curves into a wicked-looking jawline that slots together so perfectly that it looks like it could split a car in two.

Tim smiles at the look on the younger boy’s face and slaps him playfully on the back. “Trust me, she’s very gentle. You’ll have the time of your life.”

Dick waves at the snake creature to get her attention. “Hey, Unagi! Can we ride on your back?”

The creature regards him for a moment before dipping her head and slithering closer to the shoreline so they can climb onto her easier.

Damian turns a questioning gaze to Bruce and Clark. “May I ride this beast of the water?”

Clark smiles at him. He remembers the other boy’s first meeting with Unagi, how each of them had whooped and hollered as she had twisted through the water with them on her back. “Go on, Dami. She’s a clever old girl, she won’t hurt you.”

Bruce loops his arm through Clark’s. He nods at their other two boys. “If you help Damian onto her back, I’m sure she will allow you on too.”

Tim grins and fist pumps. “Yes! I bet Jason is so mad he couldn't come today.”

Dick shakes his head in sympathy. “Yeah. Poor guy is probably still stuck on that stakeout he told us about.”

Unagi makes a huffing sound, telling the boys to stop wasting time. “Sorry! Coming now!” Tim calls.

The three boys wade into the water and help boost each other onto the great serpents glistening back. Damian sits upfront, then Tim, and finally Dick at the back.

“Be careful with them, okay?” Clark says to Unagi. She trains a red eye on him and blinks lazily.

Bruce looks up to where the boys are seated. “Are you all ready?”

A chorus of ‘yes’ reaches the two men on the shore. “Hold on tight!” Clark shouts. He gives a nod to the snake and in seconds she’s off, weaving through the rippling water like a rollercoaster as the people clutching at her back scream in delight.

“I suppose we can’t let them have all the fun,” Clark says.

Bruce turns his head away from the water to look at his husband. “What do you mean.”

Clark leans forward and kisses him. “I mean this.” He scoops Bruce up in a bridal style carry and promptly dumps him in the water.

“Ah! Clark! This is a vicuna wool turtleneck!” Bruce splutters as he surfaces with black locks of wet hair covering his eyes.

Clark is too busy laughing to dodge Bruce’s grip as he springs up like lightning, and pulls him down into the water with him.

* * *

The gala was already underway when Clark slipped inside through one of the servant’s side doors. It was the annual Wayne Enterprises gala that was held every year at Wayne manor to show off whatever new project they had been working on to shareholders. He snuck around the back of the large ballroom and took his place beside Damian just as Terrence took to the stage to begin his speech.

“What is Gotham city to me? A city of crime? Of fear? The past few years have been rough on our great city, but she hasn’t given up yet.” Terrence spread his arms wide to encompass the audience. ” _We_ haven’t given up. To me, it is a city of hope, a city where our dreams can come true, no matter how far-fetched. Gotham is a city where even the underdog can rise up against the odds and beat the wolves that threaten to tear our dreams apart. It’s a city that gives purpose, a city that allows us to find family and belonging.”

He looked out over the crowd and smiled when he caught Damian’s eye. “Many of you knew the man who ran this company before me, Bruce Wayne, the man that gave so much to this city. He had a vision —no, a dream —of the future, a dream of what exactly this city could become if only it shed its old skin.”

Terrence pressed a button and a blue hologram flared to life on the stage. It depicted Gotham, although the skyline was altered to show extra skyscrapers and buildings.

Clark remembered Bruce used to use holograms in some of his presentations, this one however, was much more detailed than the old ones. Its buildings had little details like windows, and many of the streets had legible signposts. He looked closer and noticed that a large part of the residential areas in the narrows had been converted to commercial buildings. The shape of the narrows had also been altered. Was Terrence planning on draining some of the bay to make more room?

Terrence continued, “Wayne Enterprises will be funding an array of new building projects across the city that are designed to bring opportunity to those that are the least fortunate.” The audience clapped enthusiastically.

Damian opened his blazer and looked apprehensively at his phone from under his jacket.

Clark shimmied closer to him and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

Damian put his phone in his pocket and reached up to loosen his tie. “I need to leave. The bat signal is up,” he said in a low voice.

“Do you need my help?”

“No. I’ll call if it’s anything serious. Give Terrence my regrets, I’m sure he’ll understand that I need to leave.” Clark nodded as Damian stepped out of the crowd and ducked out of the room.

“I am proud to announce that the new Wayne Enterprises patented sonic wave technology will be given to the city council to help build the new and improved Gotham transit system. I can only hope that this new investment in the city will leave behind a legacy our dear Bruce would be proud of. Our technology, the technology that this company has created, will revolutionise the way we build the future. It will streamline construction and bring countless opportunities to the new Gotham City. . .” He paused for dramatic effect, “. . . The city of tomorrow.”

There was a round of enthusiastic applause as Terrence ended his speech. His grin beamed from ear to ear as he raised his hand in a charismatic wave and he stepped off the stage to the sound of the band beginning to play music again.

Clark moved to the back of the hall, knowing any attempt to wade through the waves of people to get at Terrence, would be futile until the herd thinned out. Instead, he watched the Gotham elite swan around the grand ballroom in their fancy clothes and expensive jewellery. The waiters encircling the room could barely keep their trays filled with champagne as the masses drank and ate their fill of the decadent refreshments.

Other than around Terrence, two large groups had formed over at the main bar and beside the holographic display. Clark swiped a flute off a passing tray and walked toward the hologram. It looked even better up close, it was detailed, almost like Brainiac had stolen an alternate form of Gotham and shrank it down for their viewing pleasure.

Rows of neat trees made of blue light lined the tiny roads and sleek skyscrapers reached toward the ceiling. The hologram even moved, it had tiny cars driving on the wide avenues and ant-like people playing in the wide-open park. A park that Clark had never seen before. He looked at the landmarks that were close to it on the map and deduced that it sat squarely on a large plot of land that the Gotham public school currently resided in.

A hand obnoxiously clapped down on his shoulder. “Well, what do you think?”

Clark turned his head to find Terrence standing beside him gazing at the miniature city. He shrugged. “It is certainly ostentatious.”

Terrence removed his hand from his shoulder and laughed as if Clark had told a particularly funny joke. “It sure is. But then again, a glimpse into the future needs to impress, wouldn’t you say so. . .” Terrence lowered his voice, “. . . _Man of tomorrow._ ”

Clark grit his teeth and forced his face into a strained smile. “Maybe. But no man can truly tell what the future will hold.”

Terrence sipped at his drink. “Oh, I beg to differ. My entire job is to prejudge what is to come and to plan accordingly.” He gestured at the hologram. “This is my plan, modelled somewhat from what our dear Bruce had in mind when he had the reigns of the company.”

The word ‘our’ chafed at Clark’s nerves. The man hadn’t even known Bruce and yet he was talking as if he had been best friends with him. Terrence had even had the audacity to mention him in his speech like some sort of prop. Clark tried his best to hide his ire behind taking a long drink from his champagne. “I couldn’t help but notice that this new vision of yours is rather. . . gentrified. Especially in the Narrows.”

Terrence shook his head and huffed a laugh. “To improve on something, one first needs to change it. Out with the old and in with the new and all that talk.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Look, we have big changes coming, that means sometimes we have to lose some run-down buildings so we can replace them with something better.”

Clark pointed at the large park. “Where are all the displaced people going to live when you stream roll their flats just to plant some grass.”

Terrence shook his head. “The park is for them! In fact, I was thinking of calling it Wayne Park, in honour of everything the Wayne family has done for the city. Plus, community enrichment is important in this day and age, especially when families won’t even spend time together because the parents are too busy at work and the children have their noses glued to a screen.”

“The Narrows won’t be able to sustain this level change. They need schools, not luxury penthouses,” Clark argued.

Terrence looked at him with his dull blue eyes. “Trust the process, Clark. When everything is said and done this city will flourish under the actions we take today.” He looked down into his drink and swirled it in his glass. “I know what it is like in the Narrows. I know what it’s like to fight for everything you have, to fight for the right to be loved.”

“What do you mean?” Clark asked.

“When I was very young my parents were killed in a car crash.” He pointed to an intersection in the Narrows on the hologram. “On the corner of Lincoln and March. I was raised in the Willowwood Home for Children. I grew up in the Narrows. I know what the streets are like, I know what the people are like, and most importantly— I know exactly what they need.”

“Well maybe —” Clark’s phone buzzed urgently in his suit pocket. He peeked a look at the caller ID and saw that it was an unmarked caller. “Sorry, I need to take this.” Terrence nodded and Clark walked into a deserted corridor.

“Hello?” he answered.

“I need your help immediately,” Damian said over the line. “It is happening again, the talons are out en mass, they have already killed over a dozen people while I was at the gala .”

There was grunting as Damian jumped over a gap between apartment buildings. “The police got their hands on a new hit list, I need you to go to the mayor and get him somewhere safe, he is too far out of the main city for anyone but you to get to him in time.

A sudden wave of déjà vu washed over Clark. It was just like years before, a frantic call from Batman that brought nothing but bad news. Then, it had been Jason. Now, it was Damian’s gruff voice on the line, telling him the same thing he’d been told before; the Owls were hunting.

Clark ducked into an empty room and changed into his Superman costume. “Where is he?”

More huffs of laboured breath sounded down the speaker. “Kane County. The white mansion on the hillside beside the fishing lake.”

“Got it.”

“And Clark? Get there as soon as possible. The sooner we can stop the talons and get back to Terrence, the better. I’m sending police up to the manor to keep an eye on the party while we are gone.”

The droning beep of a disconnected call sounded as Damian hung up. Clark put in his ear-piece and bundled his phone inside his discarded suit before kicking it under a spare seat. Then he snuck out a window and shot into the sky as fast as he could, without breaking the sound barrier, so that no one at the gala would notice.

Kane County was on the outskirts of Gotham. It was a moderately rich area, not as wealthy as Bristol where the old money liked the Wayne’s lived, but still filled with mansions and gated communities. He sped through the cloud cover and over the large river separating the rest of Gotham from Kane County.

The mayor's house wasn’t easy to miss. It was a medium-sized mansion with faux Greek-style pillars out front. The man clearly liked ancient Greece, because the gardens were decorated with similarly styled marble statues dotted throughout the shrubbery. No doubt it was meant to be stylish, but the architect and designer had only succeeded in making it look as gaudy as possible.

Clark circled the house once, scoping out the surrounding gardens and houses for any suspicious figures, and landed on the patio when he was sure it was safe. He tried the handle of the glass French doors, but they were locked so he drifted over to the nearest window and tried it instead. No luck. He moved on to the next window and managed to pry it open.

The house was dark inside and when Clark strained his ears, he heard nothing but the ticking of a particularly loud clock in the kitchen. He moved through the house, using his x-ray vision to look into each room as he passed. “Mayor Sanchez? Are you here?”

No answer. Clark floated up the stairs and pushed open the door to the master bedroom. It was empty, in fact, the bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in at all. Perhaps the mayor was staying at someone else’s house that night? Probably for the best considering the Court of Owls wanted his head.

Clark looked through the walls to the other rooms and confirmed that the entire house was empty. He opened the window and flew out into the night air, intending to fly back to the manor, but something caught his eye. Down at the bottom of the long garden was a large garden shed. It didn’t look out of the ordinary, except that its wooden door was slightly open.

Clark bit his lip. He needed to get back to the gala as soon as possible to make sure that Terrence was protected, but then again, checking the shed wouldn’t take long. He swooped down and pushed open the door.

The smell hit him first. First paint, then linseed oil, and finally the thick smell of blood. Clark’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dark. It was a painting studio filled with canvases in various stages of completion. Like any artist’s workshop, it was messy, every surface crammed with pots of paint and drying brushes.

“Mayor Sanchez?” Clark called out as he moved inside. He moved past a bank of canvases and spotted the mayor. The man was pinned to the wall by dozens of miniature throwing knives embossed with the symbol of an owl’s face. Blood trailed down from every tiny wound and pooled in a blackish puddle underneath him. Clark covered his nose and tried not to gag at the overwhelming smell of copper.

“Rao.” He didn’t need to check the pulse. It was apparent the man had been dead for most of the evening. Clark shook his head in disgust. The poor man had died alone, probably bleeding out slowly, pinned up there like some sort of sick twisted art piece.

Clark stumbled outside and pressed a finger to his ear. “Batman, come in.”

There was a beat of silence. Then two, then three.

Clark clenched his fist in worry. “Batman? Are you there?”

This time the comm activated. “Here.”

Clark sighed in relief. “I found the mayor.”

“Did you get him to safety?” Damian sounded tense.

“Unfortunately no. I found his corpse in the garden, it seems a talon got to him a few hours ago,” Clark said.

There was a moment of silence followed by the sound of shattering glass, almost as if something had been thrown at a wall. “Fuck!” Damian screamed.

Clark’s throat constricted with worry. “What’s happening?! Where are you? I can be there in —”

“Multiple talons attacked the manor,” Damian said. Clark could hear the hurt in his voice.

Clark’s stomach dropped. “What? When, how? I’ve been gone for less than twenty minutes.”

“They injured some of the guests, but most got out safely. The police I sent. . . they didn’t make it in time.”

Clark’s heart was in his mouth. “Is. . . is everyone all right?” From the way Damian was speaking, Clark already knew the answer.

The comm line was silent for a long time before Damian spoke, “Terrence is dead.”

* * *

Clark is pulling the ugly sweater his Ma knitted for him last Christmas, over his head when a pair of arms slide around his midsection and a chin props itself onto his shoulder. “Good news, farm boy. Tim and Damian are both training in the cave so we should have some. . . _quality_ time alone,” Bruce purrs into his ear.

Clark hums and slides his own hands over Bruce’s. “That _is_ good news.” He turns himself in Bruce’s embrace to face the other man. “Have anything in mind?”

Bruce lifts his arms to loop loosely around Clark’s neck. He looks at him from under his lashes. “I have a few ideas.”

Clark settles his hands on his husband’s hips. “I would be very interested to hear your suggestions.”

Bruce leans up and slots their lips together. He pulls back and smirks. “Do you want to hear them? Or would you rather I give you a demonstration?”

Clark slides his hands down to cup Bruce’s ass and then lifts slightly into the air so that Bruce has to wrap his legs around Clark’s waist for support. “I can never say no to a free demonstration. I’m hoping you need a volunteer to help you?”

Bruce doesn’t wait to reply. He attacks Clark’s mouth with his own and grips his hair to keep steady. Clark moans into the kiss and surges forward slightly so that they bump up against the wall of their bedroom.

Bruce breaks for air and reaches a hand out to straighten the painting that got knocked when they landed beside it. “Watch the family portrait,” he chides. “I don’t think I could sit through another painting if you manage to destroy that one.”

How could Clark forget? All in all, it had taken three days of them standing for the sketch, and then a further week before the artist had been finally happy enough with the painting to give it to them. Jason hadn’t even returned for the second day, instead slinking off into the night after having his diner bought for him. Clark can’t blame him really, the artist was a nightmare to deal with, and Jason probably would have punched him if he had stayed.

“You make a good point.” Clark lowers them from mid-air until they are both standing on the large king-size bed. “Sorry.”

“No worries.” Bruce hooks a finger under his chin and draws him in for another deep kiss. “Now. where where we —”

Clark hears them before Bruce. In an instant he’s off the bed, leaving a surprised Bruce standing alone on the mattress as Tim and Damian burst through the door.

Tim looks frazzled as his eyes dart around the room and land on Bruce. “Right, I think I’ve had more than enough patience with Damian’s collection of animals, but the cow is one step too far.”

Damian pushes past Tim in the doorway and crosses his arms. “ _The cow_ has a name.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Batcow barely qualifies as a name.”

“Perhaps it has too many letters for your feeble mind to comprehend —” Damian stops short as the image of Bruce standing on the bed finally registers. “Father, why are you on the bed?”

Clark clears his throat. “I thought I saw a spider on the roof and he was looking for it.”

Damian, Tim, and even Bruce give him a questioning glance. Tim raises his eyebrows at Clark. “A spider? Wouldn’t it be better for you to look on the roof since you can float up there and you, gee I don't know, have super vision?”

Bruce is glaring him with a look that says ‘why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut’. “Yes darling, why _am_ I the one up here?”

Clark looks back at the expectant children. “Well, don’t let this get back to Luthor, but I have arachnophobia. And your generous father volunteered to kill the spider for me.”

Damian eyes the ceiling with disdain. “I do not see any spider —”

Bruce claps his hands together and steps off the bed to stand beside Clark. “Forget about the damn spider. What is the problem here?”

In a mirror of Damian’s earlier actions, Tim pushes past the boy and crosses his arms. “The cow —”

“Batcow,” Damian says.

“The _cow,”_ Tim continues, “Keeps getting into the changing rooms and chewing my cape.”

Damian snorts. “Tt. All this fuss is about a measly scrap of fabric?”

Tim waves a finger at him. “That fabric is a very expensive specialised polymer—that I developed myself mind you—and now half of it is missing!”

Clark reaches out and gently pulls Tim back before he can get too far into Damian’s space and provoke him. “Boys, stop arguing, it’s going to get us nowhere.”

Bruce rubs at his temples in the tell-tale warning of an oncoming headache. “I thought the cow was contained to level three?”

“She is, Father. However, she is more intelligent than we gave her credit for. On several occasions she has snuck her way onto the other levels,” Damian says in an impressed tone of voice.

Bruce looks from Tim to Damian and then sighs. “Perhaps, I should have put my foot down at the cow. The collection of animals you’ve been collecting, Damian, has obviously gotten to be too much to handle.”

Damian’s nostrils flare in something Clark recognises as close to panic. “I can look after them! We haven’t had any problems before —”

Tim gives him an incredulous look. “Do you have memory problems, or am I the only one that remembers when Titus _literally_ ate my homework?”

Damian huffs in frustration and talks loudly over Tim before he can bring up another animal incident, “Perhaps, there have been some mishaps. But overall there have been few problems. Batcow has only been with us for less than a month, we have to give her time to adjust.”

Clark can see the tension rising between his three family members. He steps forward and places himself directly in front of Damian. “Look, I'm not surprised that Batcow is acting up. A cave is no place for an animal like that. She needs to be out in the sunshine.”

Damian’s crossed arms tighten and he cocks his chin up slightly. “I have done extensive research into the care of cows. However, I acknowledge that you may have key information due to your prior background in farm animal care.”

Clark smiles a little. It is a classic move of Damian’s, his sneaky way of asking for help without outright asking for advice. “We should move the cow above ground to start with, and then give her a nice pasture to graze in. She’ll also need a shelter,” Clark says.

Damian drops his arms from being crossed over his chest and regards Clark with interest. Yet again, anything to do with animals immediately gets the boy’s attention. “What kind of shelter?”

Clark scratches his head. “Hmm, let me see. It will need to be big enough for her to comfortably move around in. It will also need to be easy to clean with slip-resistant floors. It would be best if we could connect it to the paddock.”

“Paddock?” Bruce asks. “There is no farmland anywhere near Gotham. We might have a hard time finding someone to install all this equipment.”

Clark remembers how he and his Pa had built their hay barn back in Smallville. It had been a real bonding moment, something that he could look out the window at, and feel proud that he and his father had built it from scratch. “Install it? No, me and Dami will build it!”

That’s how Clark found himself in one of the outer lawns of the manor’s grounds with a grumpy child and a pile of various building materials.

"I still don't see why we have to do this ourselves. Surely father could give you the money to simply hire someone to build the shelter for us?" Damian says as he treks through the rough patches of grass in his boots. He’s wearing jeans and a fleece jacket— Clark thinks it’s the most casual he’s ever seen the boy dress.

Clark picks up a pile of heavy wooden planks and carries them under his arm over to the clearing he had marked out. "It's not about money, Damian. If you want it done right, you have to do it yourself."

Damian follows after him holding a saw. "I suppose Batcow _does_ deserve the best. I wouldn't want to give her anything subpar."

“Exactly. Once it’s done you can take pride in the knowledge that you helped build the shed.” Clark lays one of the planks of wood on the cutting table he had set up while waiting for Damian. “Do you want to have a go at cutting?”

Damian waves the saw in his hand until it makes a musical warble. “Should be simple enough. I think I can manage.”

Clark holds the plank steady on the table as Damian lines the saw up with the pencil marks Clark had drawn on to show where to cut. The boy draws the blade back and then pushes it forward with great effort. It sinks into the wood at an angle.

Clark reaches forward and pries the saw out of the wood. “Okay, let’s try that again. You want long steady strokes of the blade, and when you get close to the end, be sure to hold the part of the wood that will fall, or else it will come off and splinter the part you want.”

Damian nods and pours his focus into lining the blade up straight. His tongue peeks out from between his lips in concentration. Damian has always been someone to give a task his all, the League no doubt demanded everything from him when they trained him as a young child, and now he gives the same concentration to his woodcutting that he would his martial arts training. “Like this?” he asks as the saw slices into the wood.

“Yes! You’re doing great, Dami.” Clark smiles at him as he finishes cutting the plank. “Keep up the good work and I’m sure we’ll be done in no time.”

Damian steps back to look at his handy work and gives a small smile. “That was easier than I expected.”

Clark eyes the sheen of sweat on the boy’s forehead. He knows Damian has an urge to constantly project an aura of content, so he let it slide. “That’s great. We’ve got about three-hundred other planks to cut.”

Damian makes no outward reaction, but Clark can hear his breath stutter. “Three-hundred?”

“Give or take, yes. A cow is a big animal, it needs a big shed. Plus we haven't even started on the wood we will need for the fencing, so I will definitely need your cutting skills when we come to that.”

Damian looks back at the massive stack of wood that Clark had hauled over. “Do you think we should get an electric saw for the rest of this?”

Clark jovially slaps him on the shoulder as he loads another plank onto the table. “Nonsense. I’ve never needed power tools before, and I’m not going to start now.”

Damian doesn’t complain, instead, he steps up to the plank Clark is holding still for him, and begins the cutting process over again. Half-way through, he’s saved by a lanky black dog running at them over the field.

“Titus, how did you get out?” Damian questions as he lays the saw down on the table. The tall dog doesn’t answer as his slobbers over its owner’s face.

Clark looks up over the wide expanse of land and spies three figures picking their way down the path from the manor. A bush shakes near the side of the field and a german shepherd comes rocketing out to join the great dane.

“Looks like we have helpers.” Clark nearly reaches a hand out to ruffle Damian’s hair but he stops himself. The saw is awfully close, and he can’t be sure Damian won’t try and cut his hand off. Not that it will harm him mind you, but that _is_ his only saw, and he doesn’t want to have to buy another if it breaks.

The three figures draw closer to reveal the faces of Bruce, Tim and Dick.

“Dick, I didn’t know you were coming!” Clark walks around the table and holds an arm out as Dick gives him a greeting hug.

“Hey, big blue!” he says as he moves on to give the sullen Damian a hug. “I heard it was all hands to the deck so I thought I’d stop by to help.”

“The more the merrier,” Clark grins. “Maybe someone could take over sawing wood for Dami?”

Damian pouts. “I believe I was doing an adequate job.”

Clark squeezes the boy’s shoulder. “You were! But I thought you might like to look over the different material samples I brought over for the slip-resistant floor.”

Damian raises a curious brow and relents in giving up his previous task to the others. “I find that agreeable. Bring me to them, Kent.”

Bruce clears his throat.

Damian’s green eyes flick to his father and then back to the checkered shirt clad man in front of him. “Bring me to them, Clark. _Please._ ”

Bruce nods in approval and then pushes Tim forward with a hand on his back. Tim looks noticeably less enthusiastic than Dick. “We are all here to help. Where would you like us?”

Dick, who has already run over to the cutting table, makes a frustrated sound as he struggles to hold the plank still and saw it at the same time.

Tim sighs. “I better go help Dick, before he cuts a finger off.”

The remaining three members of the group watch as both Tim and Dick fail at sawing. “Have. . . have any of you actually used a saw before?” Clark asks tentatively.

Bruce frowns as Tim’s grip nearly slips and his hands get dangerously to the moving blade. “Yes, of course.”

“A manual saw. Not one of those fancy electric ones,” Clark clarifies.

Bruce’s flick to Clark’s face and then move away again before he can make eye contact. “I would hardly call an electric saw ‘fancy’.”

“Answer the question, father. There is no shame in it, Clark just taught me how to use the non-electric one,” Damian says.

Clark moves around so he is in Bruce's direct line of sight, and thus, can’t be avoided. “Yeah, Bruce. Answer the question.”

“Why would we use a manual saw?” Bruce grunts. “Mechanical saws are much faster and more efficient.”

Clark grins at the admission. “You know, for some reason, I feel like I just won something.”

“Oh shit!” Dick yells loudly.

In an instant, Clark appears beside Dick and cradles his arm. “Are you okay?!”

Dick looks at him with wide eyes. “Yeah. It’s just. . .” He slowly holds up the shattered plank they had been working on. “Uh. . . It splintered.”

Clark lets go of his hand in relief. “Well, in that case, watch your language around Tim and Damian please.”

Dick ducks his head slightly. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

Bruce walks over with Damian by his side. “Did either of you hurt yourself?” he asks with concern.

Dick shakes his head. “Nope.”

Tim holds up his finger. “I think I got a splinter.”

Damian raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Oh no, call 911 before we need to amputate,” he deadpans.

Tim does a double-take. “Did the demon child just make a joke? Is everyone hearing this or am I going crazy from the pain?”

Clark looks at the shattered wood and the splinter in Tim’s finger. Clearly, if he lets this go on for much longer they will have worse problems than a simple injury.

“There is cutting equipment in the cave that could sort this all out in a few hours,” Bruce says.

Clark sighs. “Fine. We can use it for a bit and see how it goes.”

Bruce grins. “You know, for some reason, I feel like I just won.”

Clark’s mouth falls open in disbelief and he playfully shakes his head in mock outrage. “I can’t believe you would stoop so low, Bruce.”

Bruce’s tall frame shakes with mirth. “Oh, you _better_ believe it, farm boy.”

There is a moment of pure silence as the kids sense what is about to happen.

“Race you to the cave!” Tim shouts as the group scrambles over each other to run back up to the mansion.

Clark lunges forward and catches Bruce around the waist. “Where do you think you are going?”

Bruce puts up a play fight to get free and calls out to the others before they get too far. “Help! Clark is cheating!”

“You’re on your own, Bruce!” Dick hollers as he takes the lead.

Bruce stops pretending to get free and turns so he can wrap his arms around Clark’s neck. “It doesn't matter. I still won.”

Clark squints his eyes and pretends to think. “Did you though?”

“Yep. Definitely.” Bruce pulls him in for a deep kiss.

* * *

Clark locked the door behind him after Terry and him bustled inside. They had just returned from a visit to Jason in the hospital. The prognosis looked better than last week at least, the doctors didn’t want to wake him up from the coma just yet, but the swelling in his brain had gone down.

“Take your shoes off, Terry.”

Terry shrugged off his coat and hung it in the closet beside the door. “Why do I have to, and you don’t?”

Clark hung his coat up and ruffled the boy’s fluffy black hair. “Because _I_ didn’t purposely jump in a muddy puddle when getting out of the car.”

Terry glanced at the thick mud caked onto the soles of his shoes. His shoulders sagged. “It’s so much fun in the moment but so messy after.”

Clark nodded in sympathy. “Sums up a lot of life, kiddo. Now go clean those up or your father will make you mop the floor.”

Terry kicked off his shoes and lifted them by their laces so he wouldn’t have to touch the mud. “If I make them extra clean can I have a cookie?”

Clark had to admire a chancer when he saw one. “Hmm.” He crooked a finger on his chin and pretended to think hard. “I _suppose_. But _only_ if you make them sparkle.”

Terry grinned enthusiastically and skated away on his socks against the polished hardwood floors.

Clark watched him duck around the corner and out of sight. Then, without bothering to check the upper mansion for Damian, he made his way down into the cave. As expected, Damian was at the batcomputer. Every available screen was filled with missing person reports and homicide accounts from the last few weeks of Court activity including the recent night of owls.

Clark walked up behind him and noticed that he even had an extra two tablets filled with talon sightings sitting on the desk behind the keyboard. “Have you eaten yet?”

Without looking up, Damian pointed at an empty can of soup. “Yes.”

Clark grimaced. “You didn’t even put it in a bowl?”

“I did not have time.”

Clark sighed and pulled a seat up beside him. “What do we have?”

It had been over a week since the talons had overrun Gotham for the second time in twenty years. Since then, it had been hectic for everyone involved. The police were stretched thin and Batman and Superman were out nearly twenty-four hours a day trying to get everything back under control.

“Two nights ago, I went looking for possible talon nests in some old properties in Gotham. One of the last buildings was called Harbour House, it was derelict, but in its zenith, it was a social club for Gotham’s elite. I came across this in a hidden room.” Damian tapped at one of the tablets and slid it across the desk to Clark.

Clark picked the tablet up and scrutinised the crime scene photo. At first glance, it looked like a dinner party, but on closer inspection, you could see the blood that trailed down from under each victim’s mask. White owl masks; just like the ones Clark had seen people wearing in the portraits hanging in the talon nests. “The Court of Owls members?!” he asked incredulously.

Damian folded his arms over his chest and leant back in his chair. “Some of them yes. I believe this to be a small portion of the Court.”

“What happened?”

Damian shrugged. “We do not know yet. It seems they were invited there, then poisoned and left to rot. By their corpse composition, I have estimated the time of death to be that of the night of owls.”

Clark looked back at the photo and tried to make sense of it. “I don’t understand. Why would the Court turn on its own members?”

Damian leant over and changed the table display to a list of names. Clark recognised some of them as prominent wealthy families in Gotham. “I believe a talon has turned on them. The Court ordered the killings, but they don’t do it themselves. Some of those families are old money, settlers in Gotham from the beginning. Their ancestors probably founded the Court, I cannot see the rest of the Court putting a kill order out for them.”

Clark mulled over the information. “It could be something else, some other organisation could be trying to challenge them.”

“Unlikely. Their current foothold is too strong. For a new player to enter the game at this stage, it would mean death. Then, there is the question of how the killer knew where and when they would go to Harbour House,” said Damian.

Clark nodded. “Whoever invited them there would have had to know them enough that they would fully trust their own murderer.”

Damian met his eyes. “Precisely my thoughts. It would not be hard for a defector talon to lure them there under false pretences and then kill them.”

Clark felt the flutter of butterfly wings in his chest. He wanted to believe it was Bruce or Dick, he wanted to believe that they had finally broken the conditioning and were trying to come home. He looked deep into Damian’s eyes and could tell the other man thought much the same.

Damian clicked off the tablet. “But we cannot be sure until I gather more evidence.” He gestured to the computer screen where the image of Mayor Sanchez pinned to the wall was displayed.

“There was one more thing. As you know the mayor was an avid painter.” Damian tapped the keyboard and an image of the murder scene popped onto the screen. “It seems he left us a hidden message. Almost as if he knew he was sentenced to death by the Court of Owls.”

Clark squinted at the harsh blue light of the computer screen. It displayed the wall of the man’s art studio, part of it was splashed with the mayor's blood, but that was overshadowed by the enflamed letters that spelt out ‘The Narrows’.

“What is this?” he asked.

“He used linseed oil, a common paint thinner, to write an invisible message on the wall. The message would only become apparent once the linseed oil was ignited. When I was on scene with the police, I smelt it and lit the oil.” Damian answered.

“So, the Narrows. . . Jason did mention that talon activity had been increasing there. The tremors also seem to be worse on that side of the city. Do you think this message is forewarning us of something worse?”

Damian grunted. “Perhaps. The fact that he had time to write us a message suggests that he knew something we don’t.”

“So, he knew the Owls had sent a talon for him. Do you think he was working with them and then backed out?” Clark asked.

Damian shook his head and pushed back his cowl. “I do not know. But we need to keep a firmer eye on things. With Jason. . .” there was a heavy pause as he mulled over the right words to say, “. . . Incapacitated, I am already stretched thin on my patrols.”

“I can help. I’ve been spending more time in Gotham anyway, and I can scale back my patrols of Metropolis while I help you,” Clark said.

Damian seemed to relax slightly at that. He had been overworking himself since Jason had slipped into a coma. Terrance’s death had only made it worse. Batman stayed out long after he sent Robin home to bed, and every day that Clark saw him, he had darker and darker bags under his eyes.

Clark put his hand on the seated man’s back in an attempt to be assuring. “Damian, you know you don’t need to do this alone, right?”

“I’m not alone. I have Terry —”

“That’s not what I mean. So much has been happening lately, first Jason then Terrence. . . I know he was a great friend of yours.” Clark met Damian’s bright green eyes. “You know, if you ever need to talk, you can come to me.”

Damian offered a small smile in return and then looked back at the computer screen. “Terrence helped me for so many years.” His shoulders sagged as he spoke, “It has been harder than usual without him.”

“Well, I’d be happy to help.” Clark stood up straight. “Put me to work, Batman.”

Damian looked at him for a long moment. “The Narrow’s crime rate has rocketed since Jason has been absent. Maybe you could have a look at the reports?”

Clark nodded. “No worries.” He walked over to and sat at a computer terminal that was a few meters away from the batcomputer’s main display. He punched his access code into the computer and started working through the recent crime surge reports.

Multiple homicides littered across the Narrows. Robberies at nearly every corner store. Break-ins at the Thompkins medical centre. Huh. Usually that was left untouched by crime, people respected the doctors that worked there too much to jeopardise their practice. So, what had changed?

Clark trawled through the information that scrolled onto the screen at the prompt of his tapping fingers. Dr Bashir had been the chief medical attendant until just a week ago when he had been murdered by a talon during the night of owls.

Clark scrolled further, names and professions flying over the screen of the many victims that had fallen to the talons on that dreadful night. All prominent members of society; doctors, politicians, community leaders. All people who shaped the city, just like last time. However, as the reel of names cycled down the screen, Clark became more and more aware of the fact that the targeted victims all played important roles in the city, but more prominently the Narrows.

John Lee, Gotham Public Advocate that had rallied for more funding to community centres in the Narrows.

Bill Keep, Head of the City planning Association who had proposed the building of more affordable housing.

Valerie Venderman, Commissioner of Cultural Affairs who had badgered the Minister of Education into funding more educational opportunities for the children of the Narrows.

All murdered on the night of owls. All key members of a hitlist, that were attempting to make the Narrows a better place. Members of a hitlist that now pointed towards the Court of Owls attempting to destabilise the Narrows.

Clark clicked out of the batcomputer’s database and entered a new search. He wanted to cross-reference this new discovery with the original night of owls that had taken place over two decades ago. A new list of names and faces popped onto the screen.

Jan Spitz, Kane County Supreme Court of Justice District Attorney that sought justice for the citizens of the Narrows that had been wrongly prosecuted.

Miguel Guadalupe, Speaker of the City Council who formed the first business grant for entrepreneurs that sought to do business within the Narrows.

Lincoln March, mayoral Candidate that pledged to rid the Narrows of all crime. Clark hesitated from reading the rest of the list. The name Lincoln March was familiar, he thought back and remembered that the man had been friendly with Bruce during his run for mayor. He moved the mouse over the small picture of the man and clicked to enlarge it.

The picture sprang onto the screen, Lincoln was a large man and he towered inches over Bruce as he slung a hand around Bruce’s shoulder. The picture had been taken at a gala the two men attended, their body language was relaxed and their smiles easy as they were frozen by the picture mid-laugh.

Clark’s blood ran cold and his breathing stuttered. Not at the sight of seeing his long-lost husband —no it was much worse —it was at the sight of Lincoln March’s face. The dark hair that looked too well combed, the dull blue eyes, it wasn’t Lincoln's face that stared back, it was Terrence’s.

Terrence had clearly undergone some sort of plastic surgery to diminish the risk of being recognised, but Clark had seen the man enough over the years to recognise that the similarities were unmistakable. Terrence Smith, the man that deeply ingrained himself into Clark’s family, was actually Lincoln March.

“Damian,” Clark managed to whisper.

The man grunted and walked over to lean over Clark’s shoulder. His eyebrows drew up in confusion. “I didn’t know Terrence met Father.”

“Damian, look at the date.” It was marked twenty-two years earlier. Terrence hadn’t aged a day.

The blood drained from Damian’s face as realisation settled in. “God, he’s one of them.”

Clark nodded. “We need to visit the morgue.”

\---

The morgue was a familiar location for Batman to visit. Clark had even crawled through the ventilation shafts several times with Bruce, but he hadn’t made a habit of it on account of him being super strong, not super flexible.

“Do you really think Uncle Terrence did all these bad things?”

Clark twisted himself in the passenger seat so that he could see the small form of Robin sitting in the back of the batmobile. Damian had parked it in an alley and left both Superman and Robin in the car while he quickly checked the status of Terrence’s corpse.

The wide white lenses of the domino mask stared up at him, and a part of him wilted inside at having to explain this to Terry. “I don’t know, kiddo. That’s what your dad is going to check on right now.”

Terry’s lips downturned. “What do we do if his body isn’t there? Does that mean he faked his death?”

Clark sighed. “I want to be honest with you, Terry. I think if he isn’t there then it means he is part of the Court of Owls.”

The boy sniffled. “I wished for days that he would come back. But now that he might still be alive. . . the thought that he had been only pretending to like us all this time.” Terry’s voice wobbled, “Why would he do this to us? After everything he’s seen the Court do?”

Clark shook his head. “I don’t know. Some people. . . they want power so bad that they don’t care who they hurt in the process.”

He blamed himself for not noticing sooner. The plastic surgery to make him look different from Lincoln March was good, but the eyes were the same. He wanted to kick himself for all the times he noticed something odd about the man and brushed it off.

Terrence’s obsession with the Wayne’s should have tipped him off, but the fact that Clark had even noticed that he had been dying his hair angered him. All this time he thought Terrence had been dying it to stop it from greying when he had been dying it silver in strategic places to make it appear as if he was ageing normally. The man must have been given the same formula as the talons because looking back, he hadn’t aged a day.

Suddenly the car shook as a tremor ran through the ground under it. Terry gripped onto his seatbelt as he waited for the shaking to cease. He rubbed at the mask over his eyes and then rolled his shoulders back. “If. . . if Terrence is still alive, then we are going to get him, aren’t we, Superman?”

Clark stared at the boy for a long moment, not for the first time in the last few months he was struck by how alike the boy was to Bruce in terms of determination. He gave him a brief smile. “We will make sure he pays for what he has done to this family.”

The door to the batmobile opened and Damian’s cape snapped behind him as he threw himself back into the driver’s seat. He slammed the door shut and gripped the steering wheel while clenching his jaw. Clark didn’t need to look under the material of the gauntlets to know his knuckles were white.

He took a deep breath, then asked, “What did you find?”

Damian’s teeth ground together. “Gone. Morgue records indicate the body had been stored there since his death. I found this instead of his corpse.” He thrust a crumpled note at Clark.

Clark unfolded it to read the scrawl of letters that were written in bold black handwriting, "𝘍𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦."

Terry scooted forward to lean out between their two seats. “. . . Down the rabbit hole. . . what does that mean?”

Clark shook his head. “I have no idea, he’s starting to sound like one of Bruce’s old villains— the Mad Hatter.”

Damian looked pensive and Clark could see that he was biting the inside of his lips — something he only ever did when he was deep in thought. He mumbled under his breath until suddenly his head rocketed up to look at Superman and Robin. “The sinkhole!”

“What sinkhole?” Terry asked.

Damian’s thought process caught up with Clark. “The only sinkhole in Gotham. It’s in the Narrows — right underneath the Willowwood Home for Children, the orphanage where Terrence was raised.”

* * *

Whoever thought it is a good idea to let Bruce and Tim team up is an idiot. The entire game they have been scribbling away in their little notebook, recording every movement and play of their competitors in some sort of advanced code system. He’s pretty sure they have their entire clue card nearly filled out, not that Clark would ever use his x-ray vision to cheat at a game of Cluedo to check, but he’s pretty sure.

Tim holds his game cards close to his chest and shares a wordless look with Bruce. The man nods and clears his throat, “We think it’s Mrs White, in the kitchen, with the candlestick.”

Clark shakes his head. “We don’t have any.”

The group's eyes follow on to Jason and Dick. The boys look at their joint hand of cards and shake their heads. “We don’t either.”

Alfred purses his lips and slips a card, face down, across the table to Tim. Tim peels it up as close to his chest as possible and tilts it slightly towards Bruce before returning it to Alfred and Barbara. “Interesting development.”

Bruce’s lips quirk upward. “ _Very_ interesting indeed.”

Bruce and Tim both scribble down a string of nonsense code into their notebook.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Here we go again with the paragraphs. What could you possibly be writing about?!”

“It is all about the detective work, Todd,” Damian says as he attempts to make his own notes in the notebook he insists to Clark they use. Clark glances down at what his team member just wrote and has trouble deciphering what any of it could mean.

Dick leans over Jason and grabs a handful of popcorn from one of the large bowls littered about. He pops a few into his mouth and leans back into his corner of the sofa. “I think you all are overthinking it. All this writing is just going to confuse you.”

They are all sitting huddled around a low table in the main living room of the manor. A Cluedo board is laid across the table, and each of the members of the family are sectioned off into groups of two as they attempt to hide their clue cards from the other teams. The windows are black with twilight, and a hearty fire roars in the grand fireplace.

Bruce flicks his notebook closed and crosses his legs. “We will see about that.” The firelight dances over his icy blue eyes, making them seem to glow with an amber glint.

“Soon,” Tim adds.

Barbara snorts from where she sits in the armchair beside Alfred’s. “We’ve barely started the game, how could you two possibly be ready to make a deduction.”

Tim taps his nose at her. “You’ll see.”

Clark gathers up the dice into his hand and gives them to Damian. “Maybe you should try rolling this time, last time I only got two.”

“Yes. I think that would be for the best,” Damian agrees. The boy had given Clark a serious stink eye on their last turn when Clark’s roll had been unable to get them into any of the rooms.

He shakes his hand and throws the dice, rolling an eleven. “Where should we go?” he asks.

Damian’s and Clark’s cards are face down on the table. Clark takes a peek at them with his x-ray vision so he doesn't have to risk any of the others seeing them by turning them over. “The conservatory. Can we get there?”

Damian nods and moves Professor Plum eight spaces into the room. “We want to ask for Mrs Peacock, in the conservatory, with the lead pipe.”

Jason sighs and hands over one of his and Dick’s cards. “Why is it, every time you two go, it’s always us that have to give you a look at our cards.”

Dick sits up from where he was reclining on the sofa, throwing popcorn into the air to catch in his mouth. “Oh! Conservatory, that reminds me of something weird I heard earlier!”

Clark pops a caramel chocolate into his mouth as Damian starts furiously scribbling down his code. “What was it?”

“Well,” Dick sits up fully and throws a piece of popcorn across the table at Tim, who expertly catches it in his mouth. “I heard that the Gotham aviary had an unusual break-in. Apparently, someone stole all of its owls.”

“I heard about that last week. Gordon told me that they had no leads. What made you remember that?” Bruce says as he intercepts the next airborne piece of popcorn.

“The conservatory.” Dick throws two popcorns and nods in approval as Bruce and Tim catch them in their mouths like seals doing tricks at an aquarium.

“What does a conservatory have in common with an aviary?” Barbara asks, plain confusion written over her features.

Dick shrugs. “I don't know, glass? It doesn’t matter how I remembered.” He goes to throw more popcorn but is interrupted by a sharp clearing of a throat.

“Master Dick, would you be so kind as to stop throwing the snack food. Or do I need to remind you that _I_ will not be cleaning up any mess you make?” Alfred says with the classic stern lift of a brow.

Dick does a U-turn with his arm and tosses the food into his own mouth. “Crystal clear, Alfie.”

Jason leans forward and rolls the dice for his turn. The dice tumble to a stop, each presenting a single pip.

“Snake eyes. Unlucky,” Tim says.

Jason tuts and moves Mrs Peacock two spaces out of the conservatory. He hands the pair of dice over to Alfred and Barbara. “I’ve been hearing about weird shit on the streets too. Something’s got the crooks all riled up,” he says.

Damian finally finishes writing down his deductions. He snaps his notebook shut before Clark can get a long enough look at it to try and decode what the boy was trying to explain in his notes. “Father, did we not attend the break-in of the Gotham City museum recently? I remember a number of owl related items were stolen.”

Bruce nods. “Yes. Someone broke in and managed to steal an antique owl mask.”

Barabara rolls the dice and moves her and Alfred’s character, Mrs White, five spaces. “Yeah, I remember that, what, like two weeks ago? Whoever did it was pretty good. They managed to get in and out without tripping the alarms.”

Tim sets his hand of cards face down on the table. “Jason, what have you heard the criminals saying?”

Jason leans back on the sofa and spreads his arms along its back. “Why do you want to know?”

Tim shrugs. “I’ve heard talk too. My criminal contacts have been shifty lately.” He pauses and looks Jason in the eye. “There’s been talk of the Court of Owls.”

Bruce snorts. “Criminals, ever the superstitious lot.”

Clark looks across the gathered faces. Everyone seems to know what Tim is talking about except him. “Wait, what is the ‘Court of Owls’?”

“A fairytale. Nothing more than something parents tell their naughty children to get them to behave,” Bruce replies.

Barbara discards her Cluedo cards— the game momentarily forgotten as the more interesting topic takes over. “Some say fairytale, others say legend. Some people believe it all really happened, hundreds of years ago at the birth of Gotham city.”

Now Clark is even more lost. “What happened?”

Jason takes over Dick’s earlier role of eating popcorn. “Legend says that the Court rules over Gotham from the shadows. Apparently, a group of the wealthy founders banded together since the beginning and pulls the strings from behind the scenes.”

“If you did not fit their plans, then they would send their highly trained assassin named ‘Talon’, to kill you,” Damian finishes.

Tim nods in agreement. “Each generation there would be a new Talon to come and kill you. Although they haven't been spotted for a hundred years, so if they ever did exist, it’s likely they are gone.”

“Their cool killing rhyme is still around though,” Dick says as he tries to get some of the popcorn off Jason. “Alfred, you should say it, you do it best.”

Alfred is sitting in one of the largest high backed armchairs in the room. It’s dark green and wingback, and the sides only serve to shadow the man’s face in the dimly lit room. “Very well. Listen closely as I shan't be doing this again.”

The butler clears his voice and speaks with the musical lilt of a nursery rhyme, “Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time. Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word about them. . .”

The firelight dances across the room, flickering as the source of the fire roars in the hearth, it moves quickly, making the shadows writhe across the walls as the flames ripple on the burning coals. Everyone is quiet as he speaks, no one daring to make a sound and break the spell of Alfred’s voice.

“. . . Or they’ll send the talon for your head,” he finishes.

Clark looks around at his family. The atmosphere in the room has certainly changed since they began playing Cluedo. “They definitely sound. . . scary to say the least,” Clark says. “I’m glad they are gone.”

“Are they though?” Dick questions.

Bruce rolls his eyes. “They aren’t real, Dick.”

Dick leans in towards the table so that he can look Bruce in the eye. “How do you know? All this owl related stuff has been happening and all the criminals have been wound up for weeks over this. Something is brewing on the horizon, I can feel it. How can you not be apprehensive about what is on the other side of the equals sign here?”

Bruce uncrosses his legs and sits forward in his chair to look at each of them. For once, Clark can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Dick. . . I know the Court isn't real. I know because I looked into it.”

“When?” Clark asks before he realises he’s speaking. Bruce usually tells him about the cases he is working on, and he hasn't heard about the Court of Owls before today. “I don’t remember you telling me about them, and I’ve been around for a long time.”

Bruce shakes his head a little. “It was before we got together. Before we met, even. Back when I was a boy.”

Jason gives Bruce a vaguely impressed look. “You investigated the Court as a child?”

“How did you manage to get around without people noticing a lone child loose in Gotham?” Barbara asks.

“It’s easier than you think. No one ever bothered me when I was investigating Batman and Robin,” Tim says.

Bruce leans back in his chair and threads the fingers of each of his hands through each other. “After my parents were killled, in the weeks following their murder, I was lost. I couldn’t accept it.”

A soft expression eases onto Dick’s face. “You were a kid, Bruce. I was the same. How are you supposed to accept —”

“No, Dick. I couldn’t accept that it was _random._ I couldn’t understand how some plain old Joe Chill, some _nobody,_ could kill my parents and ruin my life over nothing but pocket change and pearls.”

Bruce clenches his fists. “Deep down I believed —I _knew_ —there had to be something bigger at work. I remembered hearing about the Court of Owls as I grew up, but when I had asked my Father about them, he had always laughed them off as a fanciful tale. But in the days before the murder. . . there had been a _sign.”_

“The owl nest,” Alfred finishes.

Bruce nods. “An owl nest in the attic. My parents had chased them off but they always returned.”

“It could have been a regular nest. Just because it was there didn't mean the Court planted it there,” Jason says.

Tim perks up, “In an older version of the rhyme, there’s a line about ‘heeding the signs,’ aka the omens of the Court. Is that why you thought it was a clue?”

“Yes,” Bruce agrees. “I took it as a warning that they hadn’t heeded. I vowed revenge, vowed to find the Court of Owls and expose them. To crush their world as they had mine.”

Damian is on the edge of his seat beside Clark, every line of his body and expression on his face telegraphing how excited he is to hear Bruce talk. “And is that when you started the investigation, Father?”

“I did. It was my first case as a detective, and I was determined to solve it. Immediately, clues began presenting themselves. In a matter of days, it seemed that everywhere I looked was some indication, some new piece of evidence pointing towards the existence of the Court of Owls.”

“How did you narrow it down?” Clark asks.

“I began delving deeper. If the Court was made of powerful people, then there was no better place to start looking than my parents’ friends and business partners. Even though he was a doctor, my father was involved in the civic mechanics of Gotham. Not just charities, but everything from museums to the shipyard.”

“In the course of a few weeks, I'd compiled notes on some of Gotham’s most prominent families. To my mind, the mind of a boy detective, everything was evidence. Evidence of a far-reaching conspiracy against my family. I’d even located a building. . .” Bruce’s eyes glance to Alfred as the old man purses his lips.

Bruce continues, “It was an old abandoned social club with a double owl on the crest. A place called Harbour House.”

“I know it!” Dick exclaims. “The one that looks like it’s from a horror movie?”

Bruce’s lips quirk up in a smile. “Yes. All of the families that I suspected had belonged to the club at one point or another. Looking at the blueprints, I discovered that there was a hidden room in the upper tower. I was _sure_ this was it. I went to Harbour House that night, sure that I had finally found the Court. But what I actually found, up there in that secret room, was something much more frightening. . .”

As he trails off the entire group leans forward as if to hang on to his last words. “What was it?” Clark whispers.

Bruce smiles and leans back in his chair. “Dust.”

Jason throws up his hands. “What?!”

“Nothing. No answers, no villains. Just an old empty room. I was so shocked that I didn’t see the trap door, that I'd crawled through, close and lock me in.” Bruce paused, lost in thought. “By the time Alfred and the police found me, I'd been there for over a week. I was comatose and I spent three weeks in the hospital.”

“Shit,” Tim breathes.

Bruce laughs slightly. “Yes, shit. I learned a valuable lesson, one that I built my skills as a detective on — don’t let emotions guide you on a case. I had _needed_ there to be a great evil behind my parents’ death, so much so, I had almost died trying to prove it existed.”

“You were just a child. You needed to do what you needed to do to give yourself peace,” Clark says. He knows that’s not entirely true. He knows it didn’t give Bruce peace, if it had, Batman would never have existed.

“Hell of a story, old man,” Jason says. “But what if there was stuff kid-you missed?”

Bruce shrugs. “I’ve looked into the Court since then, nothing has ever come up.”

“How hard have you looked though?” Dick enquiries. To Clark’s ears, he still doesn’t sound convinced.

“Deeper than the evidence warranted,” Bruce replies. “But I still found nothing because there is no court of Owls.”

Dick twists his lip between his teeth. “Look, Bruce. No one knows Gotham better than you do. It’s your city, _Batman’s_ city. . . but it’s also almost four-hundred years old. Which means, over the years, maybe it belonged to something else. Something big. Something _dark._ ”

The coals in the fire shift, sending sparks flying out of the grate onto the black marble of the hearth. Bruce blinks at the sound, black eyelashes fluttering closed briefly over his icy blue eyes. “If the Court of Owls _does_ exist, then they are hiding so well I doubt we will ever see them coming,” he says.

Dick’s eyes stay to the flickering flames— staring deep into their orange glow. “Maybe, but tomorrow night I still think I’ll check out a few of the leads I have on them.”

Tim picks his cards back up. “Just be careful, something is brewing out there— and we don’t know what.”

Dick gives him a lop-sided smile. “Don’t worry, Tim. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

* * *

The Willowwood Home for Children somehow looked even more depleted than it had the last time Clark had set his eyes on it. A large section of its roofing had caved in to bear the inner carcass of the building to the raw elements. Trees sprouted out of some of the glassless windows and weeds clamoured over each other as they competed for space in the wide cracks in the concrete.

“The sinkhole is in the West wing. We should see it just after you go through the old gym hall,” Clark said.

Batman and Robin walked beside him as they moved through yet another dilapidated room. Damian spoke in a low tone, “We need to be on guard at all times. Who knows how many talons this place is crawling with.”

Terry scrambled over an overturned wooden desk. “What do we do when we find the sinkhole?”

“We check —”

Clark heard it before it happened; a strange high-pitched whirring sound followed by a cracking boom. The floor lurched violently as a massive tremor ripped through the Earth, and Clark lunged forward to grab Terry’s arm before the small boy could topple over. The shaking continued for a few more seconds before it petered off into nothing.

“. . . Fourteen. . . Fifteen.” Damian let go of the wall he had been holding onto for balance. “Fifteen seconds. That’s longer than any of the other ones.”

Clark straightened out Terry’s ruffled cape. “They’ve been getting longer and longer for the last few weeks, while the time between each tremor gets shorter.”

“Yeah, we used to go days between the shaking and now it’s only hours. That one was pretty strong too,” Terry said.

Damian and Clark shared a worried glance. “We need to hurry. Whatever the Court is doing, it seems they’ve accelerated their schedule.”

They moved swiftly through the vacant halls of the abandoned facility. Their capes trailed through decades of dirt and grime, and their arms brushed up against the mildewed peeling paint on the walls as they hurried past. Clark could hear it the closer they got, the constant groan and grind of heavy machinery battering against hardened rock.

They rounded the corner to where Clark remembered the old wooden gym should be, but they came to a sudden halt as they saw the mess in front of them. The gym was no longer there. Instead, it had been swallowed up by the deep hulking maw of the huge sinkhole.

Before, it had been a relatively large pit, big enough to swallow the orderlies’ quarters but small enough to be still contained to the area behind the gym. It had grown over the years, widened until more of the condemned building had slipped into its dark embrace.

Clark leaned over the edge and tried to see to the bottom. “It shouldn’t be this big.”

Damian grunted. “Whatever they have been doing has worsened its condition.” He tilted his head towards the hole and listened. “I suspect it had something to do with those ominous noises.”

“You can hear them now?”

They nodded. Terry gripped onto his father’s cape and leaned slightly over the edge. “It sounds like metal clashing on metal. Any idea what it is?”

Damian clenched his jaw together so tightly Clark could hear his teeth groan in protest. “I have an idea.” He pulled out his grappling hook and shot it into the surviving concrete at the top of the sinkhole, then he began to abseil into the darkness.

Clark held his arm out for Terry to perch on. The boy had his own grappling hook, but he preferred to get a free lift from Superman whenever he got the chance. Once he was sure Robin was holding tight enough, Clark descended after Damian, careful to keep his balance steady so that Terry wouldn’t fall off. Below them, a LED torch clicked on as Damian reached the bottom of the hole. He held the light above his head to guide Clark down safely into the deep pit.

All around them rubble from the above rooms littered the floor. Bricks, plaster, and wood were all haphazardly piled on top of each other, and Clark spied one of the old rusted basketball hoops from the gym peeking out of a jumble of broken pieces of wood.

Damian scanned his light around the bottom of the pit to reveal that part of the rubble had been cleared away in front of an oval-shaped entrance to a dark tunnel. Terry picked his way over some dusty bricks and took one look into the black of the tunnel. He swept his arm toward the two men behind him. “After you.”

Damian’s lips twitched but he didn’t say anything as he walked forward. Terry bounded into the tunnel after him followed by Clark. As they walked, the tunnel became wider until Clark and Damian could walk side-by-side.

They continued walking until the path ahead of them branched into two different directions.

“This remind you of anything?” Clark asked.

Damian shone the light down both of the tunnels. “They do bear a striking resemblance to the talon tunnels we found under the rest of Gotham. This part of the tunnel system must either be new or not connected to the one we found— or else we would have rooted it out a while ago.”

Clark looked down both dark passageways. They looked identical, neither suggesting that they led to the source of the noise over the other route. “We need to split up to cover more ground. I’ll take the right tunnel and you two take the left.”

Damian frowned. “Splitting up could make us vulnerable to attack.”

“We don’t have time to worry about that right now.” Clark nodded towards the tunnels and the worrying grating sound. “We need to find the source of that noise before it’s too late.”

Damian relented. “Fine. But we contact each other on comms the moment we come into contact with any talons.”

Terry took out an extra torch and handed it to Clark. “Be safe, Grandpa Clark.”

Clark ruffled his hair. “I will. See you on the other side, yeah?”

Robin grinned at him and gave him a thumbs up. “Race you?”

Clark smiled at him. “You bet.” He turned and walked towards the right-side tunnel.

“Wait.” Clark turned to find Damian holding out a small vial of orange liquid. “I brought both of them. You should take this in case something happens to me,” he said.

Clark shared a heavy look with Damian. The anti-electrum serum looked so fragile in the palm of his hand, yet it meant salvation for their family. Clark tucked it safely into a hidden pocket in his cape. “Thank you.”

They nodded to each other and then Clark watched Batman and Robin step into the left tunnel. He clicked on the torch Terry had given him and started to fly down the passageway. It was wide and tall, giving enough space for Clark to comfortably fly down its length without crashing into any of the walls. However, instead of being built with brick or concrete, the tunnel was rough — as if it had been simply hollowed out of the rock.

The light beam from the torch was powerful and it extended about eight metres ahead of him. Clark swept it across the walls as he travelled, and stopped when he came to the first offshoot in the tunnel. Clark stopped flying and landed on the ground so he could examine his route choice.

The second tunnel looked exactly the same as the one he currently stood in. He paused and listened to the loud sound of machinery, he then tilted his head to listen to the other tunnel. They were much the same, but with his superior hearing, he was able to make out a constant droning sound that accompanied the normal metallic one coming from the new tunnel.

“Newbie it is,” he muttered to himself as he stepped into the new tunnel. He only walked for a few more minutes before he came to more forks in the tunnel.

The passageway led to a circular room with eight other darkened corridors all leading in different directions. “What now,” he sighed as he shone the light beam down each of them in an effort to discern his best course of action.

Rock dust falling from the ceiling was the only warning he got before another earthquake ripped through the underground. The entire passage shook with a great roar and Clark had to widen his feet to balance himself.

He counted in his head, just as Damian had. Fifteen. . . sixteen. . . seventeen. . . eighteen —

Something hard beat against his back unbalancing him hard enough, along with the tremors, so that he fell to one knee. He dropped the torch and twisted, just in time to catch the foot that was aimed at his head.

The shaking ended and Dick took his chance to twist out of Clark’s grip and somersault to the other side of the circular room. “My oh my, what is Superman doing snooping around places he shouldn’t be?”

Clark gritted his teeth and rose to his feet. “Dick. I was wondering when I would run into a talon.”

Dick spread his arms and did a curtsy. “Glad to be of your acquaintance on this fine evening then.” His voice dropped some of its false joviality, “I always do enjoy running into friends.” He drew a glowing kryptonite dagger and leapt into the air, spinning at the perfect angle to aim the weapon down at Clark’s shoulder.

Clark sidestepped him quickly, intimately aware of the sickly feeling that was starting to settle into his bones at his close proximity to the irradiated rock. “Dick, stop! I have a way to end all of this. After tonight you won’t need to be a talon anymore!”

Dick scoffed and slashed at him again. “Such sweet lies you tell us, it is a wonder you haven’t tired yourself of them yet.”

The two men danced in circles, one attacking, and the other doing his best to keep out of reach. Clark curled his hand around the syringe of anti-electrum. “I’m not lying Dick.”

To do this he would need to get to skin. On Dick’s next slash, Clark dodged sideways and managed to rip off the silver talon’s mask. “I promise you, by tomorrow you will be waking up in the manor.”

Clark tore off the needle cap of the syringe and plunged it towards the talon’s exposed neck. The sharp point of the needle was mere centimetres from Dick’s pale skin when an excruciating pain shot through Clark’s head and made him drop it to the ground. Clark stumbled back a few steps and looked up to Dick holding one of the sonic disc weapons.

The sound was like thousands of screams raking over Clark’s mind, and he could do nothing but groan as he fell to his knees. An insidious grin spread across Dick’s greyish face. “The great Superman, brought to his knees by a simple high-frequency toy.” He toed at the orange syringe with his boot. “This important to you?”

Clark fell forward onto his hands and fought the urge to throw up. He reached out a hopeless hand. “Dick. . . please. . . don’t.”

“Ah. It _is_ important.” Dick’s sharp smile got impossibly wider. He raised his boot and crushed the glass syringe in one powerful stomp.

“No!” Clark shouted. He slumped forward onto the dirty ground. That was Dick’s final hope, without it, they would never pry him free from the Court of Owls’ clutches. “Dick, you don’t know what you’ve done.”

Dick moved forward and used his foot to push Clark over onto his back. He dropped the owl-engraved sonic disc onto the Kryptonian’s chest. “Your tricks are none of my concern.” He flipped the kryptonite dagger in his hands and examined it for a moment before slashing it towards his downed opponent.

Clark yowled in pain as Dick impaled it into the meat of his shoulder. “Fuck!” Any energy that he had left was immediately sapped by the weakening effects of the poisonous blade.

“Ah, ah, ah. No swearing around the kids, remember?” Dick said.

A stab of pain shot through Clark that he couldn’t exactly say was all to do with the talon weapons.

He managed to grit his teeth against the pain in his brain and shoulder so that he could tilt his head back, and watch as the precious orange liquid of the anti-electrum serum seeped into the dusty ground. “Dick, it’s not too late. We can still heal you. Just —”

Dick kicked him in the side and lifted his feet so that he could start to drag him through one of the tunnels. “Be quiet.”

Clark groaned as he was dragged over the rough ground, but he held his tongue in favour of focusing on breathing through the pain. After a few excruciating minutes he asked, “Where are you taking me?”

Dick was silent for another long minute until he finally spoke. “I’m taking you to the boss. He wants you to witness this.”

Pain induced hazy thoughts tumbled through his head. “Bruce?” Clark managed to ask over the ever growing nausea.

“No.”

They travelled in silence the rest of the way until the noise of the machinery became nearly unbearable. Clark blinked rapidly as he was suddenly dragged into a well-lit cavern. Dick deposited him into the centre of the cleared area and then reached down to click off the sonic disc before slipping it back into a compartment in his suit.

Clark managed to haul himself to one knee, the knife in his shoulder was still a searing hot pain, but at least his mind was mostly clear now that the disc had been shut off. He squinted around the room and sucked in a horrified breath at the sight of the Wayne Enterprises sonic drill working away at the centre.

It was a behemoth, easily taking up two-thirds of the large cavern, and reaching at least three stories high with another twenty metres or so dipping below the metal grating floor level into the rock. It was deafening as it worked, drilling relentlessly into the bedrock under Gotham using a beam of bright sonic energy.

A pair of hands clapped together. “Ah! Clark! So nice of you to join us on this momentous occasion. I was starting to worry that no one would show up.”

Clark looked up to a platform that wrapped itself around the middle of the drill. The talon that had spoken stood there. He looked different from the others. His suit was newer and was clearly modernised with technology in some way. The metal that made up the bulk of the armour was white, and the mask didn’t look like the classic goggles and beak form of the other talons. Instead, it was made of the same white metal of the rest of the suit but was fashioned in a way that looked closer to the court members' masks rather than the talons.

“Who are you?” Clark called over the sound of the drill.

“How silly of me. I always forget I’m wearing this mask.” The white talon reached up and removed his helmet— revealing Terrence’s smug face. He looked like the other talons now, makeup wiped away and contacts removed to reveal the black veins that spread across his pale skin and the amber eyes.

Clark bared his teeth in rage. How dare this man take everything from him and then have the audacity to look smug about it. “Fuck you, Terrence! Or should I say Lincoln?”

Terrence looked amused. “So, it was you who figured it out, eh?” He leant an elbow on the metal railing so that he could look down his nose at the wounded Superman. “I’m afraid you only got half the story.”

Clark struggled up onto his second knee. “How so?”

Terrence looked at him for a moment and then smirked. “I think we will need our dear Bruce for that explanation.” He clicked his fingers and the golden talon stepped up beside Terrence.

Clark let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. “Bruce.”

“Yes, dear Bruce.” Terrence wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. “It all comes down to him, doesn’t it?”

Clark swallowed the lump in his throat as he stared up at the golden talon’s impassive gaze. In a way it did. Terrence had stolen Bruce from him, and all these years Clark had been fighting to get him back. Every moment, every thought, everything Clark had was poured into the effort to get Bruce home.

“Why?” Clark asked. He was starkly aware of how broken he sounded to his own ears.

“Well, that story begins a long time ago. You see, a loving couple was taking a car ride in the Narrows. But unfortunately for them, they crashed at the intersection of Lincoln and March street.” He grinned wide as if he had just told a funny joke. “You see where the Court got my first name?”

He chuckled to himself and continued before Clark could answer, “The woman was pregnant at the time and the crash caused her to give birth prematurely. But, to the parents’ despair, the baby was too sick to bring home. Instead, they brought him to the Willowwood Home for Children and visited him every single day. They poured money into Willowwood, and ensured that it had the best facilities to care for their beloved child.”

The metal railing groaned in protest as Terrence gripped it tightly. “But tragedy struck. The parents were killed before they could take their baby home. Instead, he was left to rot along with the children’s home.”

Clark wanted to recoil from the words. He recognised part of the story from a long time ago, and he didn’t like where it was going.

Terrence levelled Clark with an icy stare. “Can you guess who the people in the story are?”

“I think I can hazard a guess,” Clark said reluctantly.

Terrence nodded with fake encouragement. “Go on then.”

Clark shifted uncomfortably. “You.” He swallowed what little saliva was left in his dry mouth. “And you’re claiming the parents are. . . are. . .” he trailed off, unable to bring himself to say it.

Terrence’s creepy grin didn’t waver. “The Waynes.” He lifted the arm around Bruce’s shoulders and used it to remove Bruce’s helmet. “I am Thomas Wayne Jr, Bruce’s brother that never was. The one from the other side of the mirror.”

“No. No, Bruce would have known. It can’t be true,” Clark said in denial.

Thomas Jr grabbed Bruce’s chin and brought it close to his own. “Can’t you see the family resemblance?”

Clark looked closer. They both had orange eyes and pale grey skin marred by black spiderwebs. They both had black hair and strong cheekbones. But Clark could see subtle differences, their brow bone was different and Terrence’s jaw was boxier than Bruce’s. “Not really.”

“Ack. Well, I’m not surprised. They made me undergo plastic surgery after they killed off my Lincoln March cover.” He patted at his face. “Although I went back for surgery a few years ago and tried to get my original face restored to its former glory.”

He whistled and gave Clark an exaggerated look. “Boy were the Court furious about that. They were terrified someone would recognise me.” He shrugged. “But no one ever did. Well, until it was too late of course.”

Clark shook his head in disbelief. “Why then? Why all of this?”

Thomas Jr let go of Bruce’s chin. Bruce didn’t react. He just stared blankly down at Clark. “The story doesn’t end there, oh no. The Court of Owls took me under their generous wings. They reared me to be strong and filled me with ideas of grandiose. They told me that one day I would take my rightful place as the Wayne heir.”

“But I never did. Instead of Thomas Jr, I became Lincoln March. I was supposed to become mayor and reclaim Gotham for them, but then I learned that my dear brother was the Batman. Everything changed that day —I knew what I needed to do —what I needed to become. What _we_ needed to become.”

He looked at Bruce and smiled softly. “I killed off the Lincoln persona and became Terrence so that I could get close to the Waynes. I had intended for the whole family to join me as talons, but unfortunately a thorn in my side,” Thomas Jr gave Clark a dirty look. “Prevented me from claiming anyone other than Bruce and Dick.”

Clark felt sick from hearing the tall tale that was being woven for him. “You’re fucking deluded.”

Thomas Jr continued as if Clark hadn’t spoken. “All those years spent laying in that bed in that horrid home, and all I could think about was the fact that my parents were dead. But my brother. . . my brother was still out there, and one day he would come and take me away.” The man looked at Bruce and let out an exaggerated sigh. “He never did though, so instead I took him.”

Clark decided he needed to try a new tactic if he wanted to be heard. “Bruce! Look at me. That man is not your brother. He can’t be!”

Bruce’s amber eyes snapped to his, but he remained silent.

“Go on, Bruce. Tell him how much I mean to you.” Thomas Jr said.

Bruce’s deep baritone rumbled out over the cavern. “Thomas is my brother. He has protected this family more than you ever could.”

Clark shook his head. “Can’t you see? All of this is his fault. He’s hurt us so much. He killed Tim and Alfred. He put Jason in the hospital. He’s poisoned you, filled your mind with lies and the fanciful dreams of an orphaned child.”

Thomas Jr jumped down from the platform, followed closely by Bruce. He stalked forward to stand a few metres in front of Clark’s kneeling form. “They aren’t fanciful dreams, they are reality. I became strong as I grew with the Owls. I want to share that strength with my family. Together, we will become Kings of Gotham, and rule the new city as we were always meant to.”

Clark thought back to the dinner party of Court members that had been poisoned. “You outgrew the Court, didn’t you? You were the one that killed some of its members.”

Thomas Jr’s nostril flared and he huffed a small laugh. “You know you are more intelligent than you let on.”

Bruce interrupted by speaking of his own volition for the first time in decades. “He used to be an investigative journalist.”

Thomas Jr gave him an annoyed look before turning back to Clark. “You’re right. I did outgrow them. They didn’t have the stomach for what needs to be done to save Gotham, and those that did, wanted it for themselves.” He shrugged. “I can’t really fault them for wanting to rule, but their greed got in the way of my family. As we speak, the talons loyal to me are ridding Gotham of the Owls.”

Something about what the man had just said didn’t sit well with Clark. What was Thomas Jr planning that even the Court would refuse to do? Clark’s heartbeat picked up as he felt dread run through his veins. “What is the drill for?”

“A new beginning,” Bruce said.

Clark leaned forward. “Whatever you’re doing, you need to stop. The tremors are getting worse. If you don’t stop, Gotham could split apart.”

Thomas Jr’s sick grin returned. “I would hope so. So many months of work have gone into this project after all. Do you know what we are under right now?”

“No.”

“We are right under the Narrows, near the bay.” Thomas Jr’s face twisted into something hateful. “The Narrows is a blight on this city. It caused all of this, it’s only fair that I try to fix it.”

“But at the gala you said you had plans for it. You even had a mock-up of all the changes you were going to make to improve and better it,” Clark said.

“No need to worry, Clark. I plan to keep my promises.” He pointed at the sonic drill. “When that is finished drilling, the bay will flood the sunken Narrows and wipe it clean. After it has been cleansed, I will build a better Gotham in its place.”

Disgust shot through Clark like a bullet. “All those people — hundreds will die.”

Thomas Jr nodded. “Thousands, and my new Gotham will be better for it.”

Clark looked to Bruce and caught his eyes. “Bruce, please don’t let this happen. I know this goes against every fibre of your being. If there’s anything left of you, please don’t let all those people die!” he pleaded.

Bruce broke the eye contact and looked away.

Adrenaline rushed through Clark and he stood on wobbly legs. “I won’t sit by and watch this happen.”

Thomas Jr let out a bark of laughter. “Trust me, by now I’ve learned to not let you meddle in my business. It’s time you left my family alone, once and for all.” He unsheathed a kryptonite sword. “I was going to let Bruce kill you, but I think it will be all the sweeter if I do it myself.”

He raised the sword in the air, ready to deliver the killing blow, when a batarang sailed through the air and embedded itself into his eye. “Step away from my family, Terrence,” Damian shouted.

He and Terry stood at the far side of the cavern beside the other tunnel entrance.

Dick, who was standing just behind Clark, whirled around to the intruders. “Little brother! How nice of you to join us!” He broke into a sprint as he ran forward to fight them.

Clark took the distraction to rip the kryptonite dagger out of his shoulder and stab it directly into Thomas Jr’s other eye. He knew it wouldn’t keep him down for long, but he didn’t have time to worry, because Bruce immediately started attacking him.

Bruce planted a hard kick in Clark’s stomach which knocked him back a few steps. Clark steadied his foot behind himself and used the tension in his thigh to spring into a shoulder shove that ruined Bruce’s next attack.

Bruce rolled on the ground as he was knocked off balance and jumped back onto his feet. “Look at you.” He used his kryptonite blade to point at Clark’s bleeding shoulder blade. “Bleeding. Sweating. Like some sort of injured animal. Where is the invincible Kryptonian I remember so well?”

“You know I was never invincible. You stitched me up, and carried me off the battlefield enough to know that,” Clark said.

They circled each other, Bruce sizing him up for attack and Clark looking for methods of defence against a talon that was uninjured and intent on killing him. He glanced over at the sounds of clashing metal and found Damian and Terry putting up a good fight against Dick.

“True. But I don’t remember it being this easy to reduce you to the pitiful creature you’ve become.” Bruce lunged at him and Clark grunted in pain as he caught the other man mid-air.

His muscles strained as the fatigue and hot searing pain in the flesh of his shoulder protested. Bruce’s kryptonite blade was centimetres from his eye, and Clark’s hand around Bruce’s wrist shook with the exertion of keeping it from moving forward any closer. His blue eyes met Bruce’s amber. “Bruce, I know you don’t want to do this. I know that deep down, you’re still in there.”

Something flickered behind Bruce’s eyes for a brief moment before it disappeared again. “The man you are talking to is dead,” he snarled. He kicked Clark’s legs out, and both men fell to the ground in a mess of flailing limbs.

The knife skittered across the ground as both men wrestled on the dusty floor as Bruce attempted to get it. “Bruce! Stop this!” Clark felt like a broken record. Every time he had seen Bruce since he was kidnapped, Clark had pleaded with him to stop— to no effect. He knew it was pointless, time and time again Bruce had shown where his allegiance fell, yet a small part of him still held out in hope that he could get Bruce —the real Bruce —back.

Bruce gave up his attempt to regain the knife and focused instead on wrapping his strong hands around Clark’s neck. “I intend to stop it tonight.” There was a fire in his eyes as he strangled him. Clark could do nothing but scrabble at Bruce’s arms. “My brother suggested that I kill you a long time ago. I should have taken his advice.”

Clark could see parts of his vision dimming as the oxygen was cut off from his brain. He needed to either get Bruce off him or somehow get further away from the kryptonite before it was too late. “Bru. . .shh!” he pleaded.

Bruce leant forward mockingly. “Sorry, what was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Clark!”

Clark flicked his eyes over to the left, to see Terry running toward him. “Catch!”

Time seemed to slow as the syringe tumbled through the air. It spun on an axis over and over again, until Clark caught it and jammed the exposed needle directly into Bruce’s neck.

Bruce gasped and immediately released his grip. He fell backwards and yanked the needle from his throat, but it was too late, the anti-electrum serum had already been delivered into his bloodstream. “Wha — What did you do to me?”

Clark crawled over to Bruce and gripped him by both forearms. He looked much the same, but Clark could hear that his slow heartbeat had begun to quicken. “Bruce. . .” Clark smiled in disbelief, for the first time in over two decades he felt like things would be alright.

There was a commotion on the other side of the cavern and Clark looked up to find talons run out of the tunnel Dick had dragged him through. “Terry, stay with Bruce, I’ll help Damian.”

Terry was already running toward Batman. “No! You need to be with him, I’ll deal with the talons.” He threw a grin over his shoulder. “Besides, I love punching them!”

Clark was about to protest when Bruce started to seize beneath him. “Bruce! Come on, stay with me!”

Bruce’s eye rolled to the back of his head and the tendons in his neck stood out as his body convulsed. Clark lay him on the ground and rolled him onto his side. He moved in front of Bruce’s pale face and watched for any sign of the convulsions stopping.

“Bruce? Can you hear me?” Clark felt as if his world was coming crashing down all around him. He finally had a shot at saving Bruce, and he had ended up hurting him instead. What if the serum killed him? After all, there had only been two vials, how were they supposed to test that it was safe?

Clark shut his eyes and lay a hand on top of Bruce’s arm. “Come on, you can beat this. I know you can.” The seizing stuttered to a stop and Clark looked down at his husband. He shook him, expecting him to open his eyes, but Bruce remained motionless.

“Bruce!” In a state of panic, Clark pressed his ear to Bruce’s chest. Thump. . .thump. . .thump.

Clark sighed. The heartbeat was there— even if it was still slightly too slow for a human.

“Superman!” Damian shouted.

Clark whirled around to find Batman and Robin fighting the talons. Damian fought ruthlessly, punching and kicking with brutally calculated hits to inflict the most damage. Terry whirled around the talons, striking with a viciousness which was only met by Dick as he tried to catch the quick little Robin.

Damian knocked out a talon and looked directly at Clark. “The drill! You need to shut off the drill!”

Rao. He had nearly forgotten in all the mayhem. Behind him the sonic drill whirred on, blasting away the precious bedrock that kept the Narrows from sinking into the bay.

He rose to his feet with a flurry from his cape and tried to lift into the air. He made it a few metres before he fell back down to Earth. He shoulder protested loudly as he landed on it. “Fuck. Get yourself together Clark,” he said to himself.

He scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could to the control panel connected to the side of the machine. The screen came to life under his fingers and Clark made his way through the system and entered the command sequence to power down the drill.

A computerised voice rang out as Clark confirmed the command. “Sonic drill shut down sequence enabled. Estimated time to shut down: six minutes.”

“Thank Rao,” Clark sighed. He turned around as he heard a footfall behind him. A talon lunged at him and he rolled it over his back and kicked it behind himself. He turned just in time to see it fall down the drill shaft and be obliterated in the path of the drill’s weakening sonic pulses.

He turned back towards the main fighting. Dick lay prone on the ground in a pool of black blood and Batman and Robin were fighting at least three talons each. Clark caught movement from the corner of his eyes and saw more talons running toward the entrance.

“Robin, get away from that tunnel!” he shouted.

Without questioning the order, Terry flipped over two talons that lunged toward him and ran away from the tunnel entrance just as Clark collapsed it with a short blast from his laser vision. The rock folded in on itself and trapped a few talons under it while blocking off the rest of the back-up force.

Clark doubled over from the pain in his eyes. Clearly, he had strained himself too soon with the laser vision. He straightened up, intending to run to Terry to help fight, when something fiery hot slid through his back.

Clark gasped in pain and looked down to find a kryptonite sword peeking out of his chest. He made a strangled noise and fell to his knees as the sword was withdrawn from his body. He heard the sound of footsteps walking across the gravel and then the sound of the control panel saying, “Sonic drill shutdown sequence disengaged.”

Moments later, white armoured boots walked into his vision and Clark looked up to find Thomas Jr staring down at him with a maddened look in his, now healed, eyes.

“You think you can get away with this? You think you can come into my kingdom and try and take my family from me?!” he roared with unbridled anger.

Clark struggled to stay on his knees. The sword was no longer impaled in his flesh, but he could still feel a small shard of kryptonite that had wedged itself inside his chest. He spat blood at Thomas Jr’s boots. “They aren’t your family. They never will be,” he panted as he held a bloodied hand over his wound.

Rage writhed its way onto Thomas’s face. “You are scum!” He raised the sword over his head in a mirror of his earlier execution attempt. “Alien scum that isn’t worthy—“

Clawed hands curled around the handle of the blade and ripped it out of Thomas Jr’s grip.

Bruce stood tall. His skin was pale but free of the black lines that had once marred it, his amber eyes had returned to their rightful icy blue, and he looked completely and utterly furious. “You are a monster. A decrepit creature that ruins everything it touches.”

Thomas Jr spun to face him. “Bruce, what are you doing?” He held his hand out expectantly. “Give me my sword, brother.”

Bruce swiped the blade at him in reply. “You aren’t my brother!”

Thomas Jr’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second as he jumped out of the path of the weapon. “What is this?” He looked at Clark accusingly. “What have you done!?”

Clark looked him in the eyes. “I’ve broken your spell.”

Thomas Jr’s face twisted into something ugly as he turned back to Bruce to block his next attack. “You dare betray me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Bruce thrust the sword forward just as Thomas Jr side-stepped it. “Everything you’ve done for me?” he asked incredulously. “You killed my family— and you hurt the ones you didn’t kill.” He twisted the sword in the air and managed to cut a line of blood across Thomas Jr’s face. “You ruined my life.”

On Bruce’s next strike, Thomas Jr caught the blade in his armoured hands and snapped it in half. “I should have known this would happen. That one day you would break my trust in you. What else could I expect from a brother that had kept the city for himself rather than share it with me?”

Bruce drew back the short stub of a sword and stabbed it into the seam between armour plates in Thomas Jr’s shoulder. “You are crazy. Years of living under the thumb of the Owls, years of listening to their lies. . . you can’t tell fantasy from reality,” he said.

Thomas Jr did look crazy. His eyes had a wild look about them, and he fought Bruce with an unhinged kind of fervour. “I see now that we were always destined for this. To fight. It’s a story as old as man. Two sons of a fabled line. Like Romulus and Remus, destined to share a city.”

Clark watched as the two men circled each other. Bruce’s muscles were tense, and his gaze dark, as he watched every move that Thomas Jr made. “One brother always hurts the other,” Bruce said.

Thomas Jr laughed harshly. “Yes, one of them always gets greedy. He takes the city for his own and forgets his kin. He leaves his fallen brother to rot. Just like you did.”

Bruce shook his head. “No. I refuse to be blamed for your failings. I was a child when my parents died, whatever secrets they had, went with them. There is no record of my parents ever having a second child, all I have to go on is your tainted word. I won’t be party to whatever fantastical musings your depraved mind has concocted to amuse itself.”

Thomas Jr jumped at him and the two men began fighting hand to hand. “You are an ungrateful swine! You had it all” You had a family. You had Batman. You practically owned this city!” He landed a heavy right hook on Bruce’s jaw. “All while I watched you from the shadows. The brother that never was — but should have been.” His next hit made a cracking sound as it landed on Bruce’s nose. “All I wanted was a piece of it. I just wanted for us to be together. I would have handed you the key to Gotham on a silver platter.”

Bruce growled and gripped Thomas Jr’s biceps so that he could get leverage to knee the other man in the stomach. “You never cared about family. You wanted control — you wanted ownership!”

Thomas Jr panted through the pain and smiled. “So what if I did? You flourished under my guidance. You became a force of reckoning, something that you never could have done as Batman. What I did for you. . . it was a gift.”

Bruce bared his teeth. “You killed my father!” he screamed. “You killed my son, and then you stole another from me. You tortured me and Dick until we broke to your will.” Bruce’s blue eyes glinted with malice as his hands reached up to grip both sides of Thomas Jr’s head. “And now you’ve tried to kill my husband.”

“Everyone in the Narrows will die, brother. And it will all be your fault.”

Bruce’s fingers tightened their grip until the metal claws at the end of his gloves dug into flesh and drew blood. His face went dangerously blank for a moment before he said, “Rot in hell.” He twisted his hands sharply and ripped Thomas Jr’s head from his shoulders.

Bruce stood deathly still as the headless body fell to the ground.

Clark called out to him, “Bruce?”

Bruce didn’t answer. He continued to pant from exertion as he started at the head in his hands.

“Bruce!” Clark called louder.

Bruce’s eyes snapped up and he dropped the head. “God, Clark.” Bruce stumbled over to him and hauled Clark to his feet. He looked over his injuries with worry. “Are you okay?!”

It was as if a day hadn’t passed since Bruce went missing. The serum that had taken Bruce from him had also preserved him in time. Bruce’s hair was jet black, unmarred by silver streaks, and his face was completely free of wrinkles.

Clark reached a hand up to cup his husband's face for the first time in decades. “Is it really you?”

Bruce looked just as mystified as Clark as he stared at him. He leant into the warm touch and nodded. “It’s me. I’m back. You got me back.”

Emotions overcame Clark. All this time, he had been waiting for this exact moment. It had been such a long journey, that at points he was sure it would never happen. Clark leant forward and kissed him, pouring as much longing into it as he could manage. Bruce immediately leant up into Clark’s embrace and kissed back with as much enthusiasm.

After a long moment, Clark broke away from the kiss and used his thumbs to wipe at the trail of tears on Bruce’s face. “There are no words to tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

“I thought I would never get to do that again. I thought I would —” Bruce’s words were cut off by a huge pulse of sonic energy from the drill, less than a second later a violent earthquake ripped through the cavern. Bruce stumbled and Clark caught him.

“Ah! My side.” Bruce shouted in pain.

The tremor ended and Clark looked down to find the other half of the kryptonite sword wedged between the plates of his armour. “Bruce, are you alright?!”

Bruce clutched onto Clark’s arms with a white-knuckled grip and gritted his teeth, “I’ll be fine.” He reached down and yanked out the offending weapon. “We need to shut down the drill. _Now_.”

Bruce went to move away but Clark caught his elbow. “Bruce, we can —”

Bruce levelled him with a serious look. “You don’t know how powerful this drill is, Clark. Thomas was an idiot, if we don’t shut this thing down it won’t just sink the Narrows, it will take half of Gotham with it.”

Clark thought of all the people he had met over the years. All the people that he had saved, all the people that lived in Gotham and called it their home. They would all die. Clark nodded solemnly. “Let’s stop this thing. Together.”

Bruce helped a limping Clark over to the control console. Every movement was agony, Clark’s wounds were open and bleeding, and he could feel the shard of kryptonite inching ever closer to his heart with every step.

Bruce glanced at him as he tapped at the display. “Just a little longer, Clark. Then we can get out of here and get you looked at.”

Clark leaned heavily against the railing. He managed to huff a laugh through his exhaustion. “I should be the one worrying about you. I just got you back.”

Bruce’s worried eyes softened. “You know I hate seeing you injured. I don’t like—” An impatient beep sounded from the console. Bruce’s eyes snapped to it and a frown darkened his face. “The deactivation controls won’t work.” He leaned over the side of the console and pried off its access panel to reveal that some of the wires had been cut.

“Thomas, he sabotaged it?” Clark asked.

Bruce’s lips thinned. “It would seem so.”

“But we can stop it another way can’t we?”

Bruce looked directly into his eyes. His gaze was serious and brooked no room for misunderstanding. “There is one other way.”

A dull sense of resignation settled over Clark. “I see.”

“Father!”

Both men broke eye contact to look up at Damian walk their way. He was covered in black blood and bruises were already starting to show on what little of his face they could see. At his side stood Terry, he was similarly covered in blood, but his wounds had healed on account of his healing factor.

Damian carried a, currently lifeless, Dick over his shoulder and behind them lay countless talon bodies. Some of them had been torn limb from limb —clearly Terry’s handiwork —while others were neatly decapitated.

Bruce’s face broke into an expression of raw emotion. “Damian,” he breathed. He paced forward and wrapped his son in his embrace. Clark moved as fast as he could to take Dick’s body into his arms so that Damian could properly hug his long lost father.

Damian gripped onto Bruce tightly and buried his face into his neck. When they broke apart, Clark could see that there were tears in both men’s eyes.

Bruce pushed the cowl back and tenderly cupped Damian’s face. “I. . . I haven’t seen you without the mask.” His voice was thick with emotion as he spoke. “You look so grown up.”

“You have missed. . . a lot.” Damian’s eyes raked over Bruce’s face, taking in every single detail. “You look well like you have not aged a day. I am pleased that the anti-electrum serum worked.”

Bruce smiled and stepped back out of Damian’s arms so that he could get a better look at him. “So you created it? I’m not surprised, you always were a clever one.” Bruce reached forward to run his hand along Damian’s cape. “You look good in the batsuit. It suits you well.”

Damian smiled. “Thank you, Father.” He reached a hand slightly behind him and drew a fidgeting Terry around to his side.

Bruce’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “The new Robin.” He kneeled down on one knee to Terry’s level. “I don’t think we’ve ever formally met.”

Terry seemed oddly shy, but he stuck out a hand. “I’m Terry Wayne.”

Bruce hesitated slightly as he took the small child’s hand. He glanced at Damian. “Thomas never told me that you had a son.”

Clark had spent enough years reading Damian to know that a sad look had passed over the man’s face. “Terry is your. . .” Damian trailed off.

Terry finished the handshake and rolled his shoulders back confidently. “Damian is my dad, but I believe you are my biological father.”

Bruce’s already pale face went white. He took a long moment before he spoke. “You’re the lost child. The one that was stolen from the Court. I thought that I would never see you again.”

Damian spoke up. “It was us that took him. I raised him as my own.”

Bruce looked up at Damian. More tears brimmed in his eyes, but he blinked them away. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.” He looked back to Terry. “Both of you.”

Terry threw himself at Bruce and the older man wrapped him in his strong arms. “I’m glad you’re better now,” Terry said.

Bruce tightened the hug for a second before breaking free and standing up. “I heard Jason will pull through.”

Damian nodded.

“Tell him. . . tell him I love him.”

Damian cocked his head in confusion, but it was Terry who spoke. “Can’t you just tell him yourself?”

Bruce schooled his face and smiled at Robin. “I will. But just in case.” He shared a long look with Damian. “You need to take Terry and Dick to safety. I will stay behind and deal with the drill.”

A broken look like shattered glass passed over Damian’s face. He put his cowl back on and a lone tear trailed down from under it. Clark took that moment to move forward and hand Dick back to him. “Keep him safe.” He ruffled Terry’s hair. “And you, stay out of trouble.”

If Terry sensed something was wrong, he didn’t show it. He grinned. “I can’t help it. Trouble loves me.”

Clark smiled at him and committed the child’s smile to memory. “I know, kiddo. I love you for it.” He turned to Damian and wrapped his uninjured arm around him in as good a hug as he could manage in his current state. “I’m proud of you too. Keep safe.”

Behind them, the blocked-off tunnel started to move as talons dug their way through. Clark looked over his family one last time. “It’s time for you to go, I’m staying with Bruce,” he said.

Damian opened his mouth and closed it again. He shifted Dick in his arms and looked Clark in the eye. “Thank you. For everything.”

Bruce ran a finger over Dick’s still face. “I know you’ll help him. I know that you’ll succeed no matter what.”

Damian nodded. “I won’t stop trying until he’s back.”

“Goodbye, boys.”

“Goodbye, Clark. Goodbye, Bruce.”

Bruce and Clark watched as Damian and Terry turned and ran out through the exit tunnel.

“Just us two then,” Clark said.

Bruce wiped the tears from his face and helped Clark walk back to the control console. “Just us two against the world. Just like always.”

Clark took up his slumped position against the railing as Bruce started typing in commands. “They didn’t call us the ‘World’s Finest’ for nothing.” He panted between breaths, each rise and fall of his chest grating against the kryptonite nestled inside. “How exactly are you going to stop the drill?”

“Thomas botched the shutdown feature. The only way to stop it, before it does too much damage, is to overload its engine and blow it up.”

Clark watched as fallen rock tumbled away from the collapsed tunnel and the beginning of a talon squeezed through the gap. “An explosion? I always wanted to go out in an explosion. Like James Bond or something.”

The talon got through completely. It scrambled onto its feet and started running toward Bruce. With great effort, Clark peeled himself off his railing support and stepped into its path. He planted his feet and tried to muster up a laser shot. Nothing came. Next, he tried his freeze breath, but the weakening effect of the kryptonite along with the injuries he had sustained, meant that he had nothing left to give.

The talon barrelled into him and Clark channelled all of his remaining energy into flipping the talon and cracking its neck over his knee. For good measure, he picked up the knife it had been holding and pierced it through one of its goggle lenses.

Behind him, the console beeped and then monotonously said, “Warning! Engine overload in progress. Estimated time until complete overload: thirty seconds.”

On shaking legs Clark made it back beside Bruce and slid down to the ground so that his back rested against the railing. He coughed and tasted the metallic tang of blood. “Bruce.”

Bruce sat beside him and took his hand. “I’m here.”

More blood tried to well up, but Clark forced himself to swallow it down. “I love you.”

Bruce pressed in close to Clark’s side and kissed him on the cheek. “I know. I love you too.”

He looked perfect. His soft black hair, his pink lips. His perfect blue eyes. Clark could stare at nothing but Bruce for the rest of his life. “I’ve been dreaming about this day for years. Dreaming about all the things I would do and say. About bringing you home. I’m sorry that I couldn’t get you there.”

“You did, Clark. You saved me. You brought me back.” Bruce squeezed Clark’s hand. “I would have given my life ten times over if I had known it would let me hold you like this again.”

Clark smiled softly and closed his eyes for a brief moment. The pain had entered a numb stage in the back of his mind, but the deadly pull of fatigue nagged at him.

“Hey!” Bruce shook his shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep on me now. Stay awake with me.”

Clark opened his eyes to see Bruce’s soft smile and icy blue eyes. All things considered, Clark knew he was the luckiest man on Earth. “I’m sorry it had to end like this.”

“Don’t be.” Bruce cupped his face lovingly. “There is nowhere I would rather be, than here, with you.” He leaned forward and pressed one last kiss to Clark’s lips.

Clark smiled into the kiss. He never thought he would be able to kiss Bruce again. But here, and now, the press of Bruce’s lips against his own was the only thing worth thinking about.

Beside them, the console dutifully counted down to zero, and in a roar of pure energy, the drill exploded.

_He wakes at the soft closing of the bedroom door. Moments later, gentle footfalls make their way to the other side of the bed and he feels Bruce slip under the covers. Clark opens his eyes. Sunlight streams through the tall bay windows, bathing the room in a warm glow. It’s early morning, the sunbeams strong as they are birthed over the horizon. Bruce is just back from patrol._

_Clark rolls over and runs a hand through dark locks of hair. Bleary eyes blink open and Bruce burrows further into the covers and into Clark’s side. He presses a chaste kiss to Bruce’s forehead, “Rough night?”_

_“Mhmm,” The tired man nods, and he lets his eyes fall closed again._

_Clark smiles. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. “Stay awake with me,” he says, and the gentle breeze whispers along with him, rustling the sheer curtains as they flutter at the windows._

_The sunbeams highlight Bruce’s perfect cheekbones, and clear blue eyes crack open again to look lovingly up at Clark. Bruce smiles, his lips part slightly, and he says,_

_“I love you,” he reaches a hand up to cup Clark’s face, “But it’s time for us to rest.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Major Character Death**
> 
> Ayyyy you finished it! The brilliant art at the end that [Cruria](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Cruria/pseuds/Cruria) did is so good! 
> 
> So this is the end of Clark and Bruce's journey. I know it's a bittersweet ending, but in the end they didn't care about death, all they cared about was that they got to be together again. 
> 
> Just a little 'after fic' explanation: Jason wakes up from the coma. He helps Damian and Terry create another cure for Dick. It takes time for Dick to heal, but eventually he joins Jason, Damian, and Terry on the streets of Gotham and they successfully take down the Court of Owls once and for all.
> 
> I already mentioned this in chapter one, but in case you missed it, the title of the fic is based off a song by London Grammar called [Stay Awake.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UflF-nJMgk4&ab_channel=MaysaaPooters) I think it's really fitting for the vibe of this fic so give it a listen if you want!
> 
> Come see me on my Tumblr [aboutbatman!](https://aboutbatman.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stay Awake With Me - Illustration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451732) by Anonymous 
  * [Stay Awake With Me- superbat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27450586) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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